Through the Veil
by darienqmk
Summary: Two alcoholic men decide to jump through the Veil. This takes them back to August 1st, 1993. They don't have much to lose, anyway - the only thing left to do is to go around and piss everyone off, true Marauder fashion. So they do exactly that.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter****One**

Two men were in a pub. It was an ordinary Muggle pub, and the two wizards were dressed quite normally. They also placed notice-me-not charms on themselves, so that everyone except the cute blonde waitress did not really see or hear them. This was good, because they were catered by the cute blonde every time instead of the disapproving-looking college student with the glasses and acne, and the blonde bothered to grace them with a smile each time.

"Bloody hell, mate," Ron hiccuped. "What are we doing with our lives? What are _you_ doing with your life?"

The answer was 'shit all', but this wasn't really their fault. Harry Potter's marriage with Ginny had never gone too well, because Ginny considered Harry to be Prince Charming, a storybook character (no doubt perpetuated by those ridiculous Harry Potter adventure books), instead of an actual, three-dimensional human being with feelings. So, of course, their relationship soured quickly after marriage.

One thing both Harry and Ron could agree on, was that Molly Weasley was a complete bitch when her daughter was involved. Harry had been cowed the entire divorce proceedings by her because, much like the Horntail guarding her nest during the Triwizard Tournament, she'd proceeded to spit and howl at him. Ginny seemed rather unemotional, back then. Regardless, Ginny Weasley managed to steal 75% of his liquid assets from both the Black and Potter vaults, making the Weasleys richer than ever before, and Ginny had gone on a dating spree that included suspicious deaths much like the late Madam Zabini. Harry shuddered. He got off better than the rest, considering.

"I wish we could start over again," Ron said, ordering another beer. "Our lives have gone further to the shitter than we could've imagined. I want to go back to third year, mate."

"Why not first year?" Harry asked curiously.

"Because the girls don't have tits and our voice hasn't dropped!" Ron said, scandalized that Harry would even dare ask such a question.

"Fair enough," Harry shrugged. "You reckon the Veil of Death is a time-machine thing, mate?"

"It just might be," Ron mused. "Maybe we might find Sirius on the other side. That, I'd like to see."

Harry shook his head sadly. "Unfortunately not, mate. Sirius was hit by the blood-boiling curse when he got tossed over. Unless he got teleported straight into St. Mungos, I don't see how he would still be alive."

"Ah," Ron said sadly. Silence reigned as they continued to drink.

"You know what's sad?" Harry sighed. "This is the fifty-third time we've spoken about going back to the past."

"Is it?"

"Yeah. I scratch my hand next to Umbridge's scar to keep track. I think we can add an extra five or six or so, before I started marking myself."

"I don't remember all these conversations."

"I wouldn't either if it weren't for the scratches," Harry smirked, and raised his bottle. "To alcoholism!"

"Alcoholism!"

They both drained their bottles and waived the waitress over for another one. As she had done for the last twelve bottles, she asked if they were certain they weren't drunk. The response she received was a silly grin from both and Ron burping unintentionally. The waitress only shook her head; thankfully, while both men were in their late forties, the fact that they aged slower as wizards and got strenuous exercise as Field Operatives, meant they looked to be in their early thirties. The expression of tired amusement on the waitress' face would be one of disgust if she were dealing with two pot-bellied middle-aged men, they were sure.

"Do we have anything to lose?" Harry asked.

"Dobby?" Ron slurred.

"Dobby's dead," Harry snapped, before calming himself back down. "That damn little bugger. I'll always remember the glee on his face when he was wiping his arse with Lucius Malfoy's bedsheets when we raided their manor."

Ron laughed so hard he tipped off his chair. Usually, this would mean the bar staff would drag him out, but thanks to the notice-me-not, all they gathered was a confused look from the waitress. With Harry's help, he clambered back up and sat, wiping a tear from his eye.

"You know what? Third year sounds good," Harry muttered. "I'd have Dobby at my side, at that point in time. And Sirius would be visiting, too. Even if he's not our version…"

"Yeah," Ron said, instantly sobering. The thoughts of old friends always dragged them back to the cold, harsh reality of their world which sorrows could not even be drowned with the strongest alcohol.

So many had been lost. Remus, Tonks, Fred, Dumbledore. Harry even occasionally found himself missing Snape, the greasy dungeon bat, and his certainly creative (though nonetheless hurtful) quips. He missed Hedwig and Dobby and Sirius. He missed so many people - many from the Battle of Hogwarts, but also some from after that.

Ginny and Hermione were also both gone, in a way. Ginny, obviously, had dumped Harry and taken all his money, and when Ron tried to defend his in-all-but-blood brother, he'd been exiled from the family. Not that the once vibrant family was very bright, anymore. George was subdued ever since he lost his twin, losing a piece of his soul that had always been connected to Fred. Percy tried to make up for his abandoning the family, but it was never that easy. Charlie busied himself with work and unintentionally became the next Percy. Bill, of course, had his own family to grow.

"We have nothing to lose," Harry finally answered his own question. "Hey, Ron?"

"Huh?"

"Why don't we go to the Mystery of Departments right now," Harry said slowly, not realizing the mistakes in his vocabulary. "We'll fuck off down to the ninth level and we'll do frontflips through the Veil, holding hands of course, so we don't go to different destinations."

"Fair enough, brother," Ron stood himself up immediately to faceplant onto the floor. Harry roared with such laughter that he himself fell to the floor immediately after. Concerned, the blonde came to help them.

"Sorry, love," Harry gasped. "I handle drink better than he does."

"It's okay," she smiled. "As long as you don't throw up on the floor."

"We've decided that we have nothing to lose," Ron declared to her. "We're gonna jump through the Veil of Death together."

At that, the girl's eyes widened and she tried to convince them not to jump (she was probably thinking from a bridge). At that, Harry and Ron launched into a drunken explanation of the Veil, its history and purpose. Eventually, Harry cast a notice-me-not on the waitress herself and invited her over for a drink at their table.

By the time they stayed up until two in the morning, with a four-hour recounting of the many stories they had throughout school and after, the girl was just as drunk as either of them. After finishing their epic marathon with a surprisingly sober obituary of every single person they'd lost in their lives, the girl burst into tears alongside Ron. They offered to take her home, and they did; Harry briefly looked through her drunken mind with Legilimency and searched out her address, where they walked her home.

After putting her to bed, the two of them took a long walk around London. They passed the major sights, such as the Eye and the Tower. As dawn fell - quite early, since it was summer - they apparated to the Ministry of Magic.

Since the defeat of Voldemort, the Ministry had not changed at all. Not at all heeding the lessons of the past or the wisdom of their ancestors, the Ministry had gone right back to oppressing minorities and continuing to screw up everything. Hermione worked hard to change the Ministry, she really did. But the matter of the fact was that she was simply outnumbered, outnumbered by a large group of pureblood families who didn't want to lose any of their privileges and couldn't care less about people starving in hunger strikes.

So, as they walked past the fountain (the shit-ugly one with centaurs, goblins and Muggles looking adoringly up at a witch and a wizard) Harry used a bit of his wandless transfiguration to change the wands to a pair of thick, veiny dildos. Ron almost gave the game away by failing to contain his giggles, so Harry had to silence him. They loaded themselves onto the elevator and started traveling down, down, down.

"I wonder how long it'll take them to notice," Ron said, and Harry grunted.

They landed on the ninth level, which the pleasant automated female voice announced. They stumbled out of the elevator - thank goodness nobody was around right now - and began shuffling in whichever direction. As Field Operative Unspeakables, Harry and Ron didn't spend much time in the Department of Mysteries like their research counterparts. They had their own building for their headquarters, complete with a training theater. They had not, in fact, stepped foot in this place since the battle with Death Eaters so long ago, in fifth year.

"I won't go near those tentacled brains this time," Ron muttered.

"Good idea, Ron," Harry said, patting his back. "That must be the second this month."

"Shut your mouth, four-eyes."

It took them a few tries, but they finally reached the infamous 'Death Chamber'. They found the veil and Harry wondered once more why it was once considered a method of humane execution. As far as they knew, they might be teleported to a desert and being death row inmates, they'd have no water and take about five agonizing days before they could die of dehydration.

"So how do we do this?" Ron asked.

"We'll link our arms and skip," Harry said. "To see the wonderful wizard of Oz."

"I fucking hate Aussies," Ron muttered under his breath.

"We'll hold both hands," Harry declared, demonstrating. "Wherever we go, or even if we get shredded into confetti in there, I don't want to be separated from you. Understood?"

"Yeah, I understand." Ron was suddenly serious.

"If this does work, maybe it's like apparition," Harry said. "We need to have a clear destination in mind, or we get torn into ribbons due to inter-dimensional splinching. What will our destination be?"

"How about…" Ron said thoughtfully. "August first, of 1993. I think that's our third year, yeah. We'll imagine landing, _safely_, in the field next to the Burrow in August 1st, 1993. How's that?"

"What happens if we land there and we end up with two Ronald Weasleys?" Harry asked.

"Then I'll beat the snot out of the child for being a jealous prat," Ron replied, and Harry cackled. "Anyway. Shall we?"

Harry glanced at the Veil, with voices sounding somehow like Sirius, and Tonks, and Remus beckoning him. "Might as well, hey?" Harry tried to grin. "Alright. I'll make sure to imagine everything you said. Let's go."

They gripped each others' hands as hard as they could, before doing a little side-step into the Veil. They only barely heard the Unspeakables' rightful panic as they jumped through.

* * *

Ron felt the telltale tugging of apparition as they jumped through, and felt Harry's theory come to life. However, like Harry implied, the tugging was _extremely_ strong; Ron's body, if it even existed in that particular moment in time - if there even was such a thing as time - curled up into a defensive ball. He was probably screaming, but he couldn't hear it - all of his senses seemed to have shut down. He couldn't feel anything, except two things - overwhelming fear, and Harry's death grip.

He tried to imagine the Burrow as best as he could. It was like trying to cast a Patronus in front of a Dementor, but a million times worse. Merlin damn, he was an Unspeakable field agent! He was the elite of the elite! Bone-breaking curses and blood-freezing curses didn't scare him anymore, why should any of this? He'd disappointed his best mate many times during their school year, lost him so many times that it was a wonder that Harry ever came back for him. Not again. Not again!

As he thought that, he landed. Immediately, Harry and Ron let go of each other, turned away, and threw up.

Ron, who'd had a bit more to drink, took a bit longer to empty himself. As his eyes adjusted to the light, and his nose adjusted to the smell of vomit and stale beer, he heard Harry collapse onto the grass. As soon as he felt oriented enough in this new world, he turned around and checked on Harry.

"You've shrunk!" Ron cried.

"So have you!" Harry replied irritably, as Ron collapsed next to him, staring at the wide, blue sky. "Bloody hell," Harry muttered angrily. "I'm thirteen again."

"Hey, like I said, didn't I say it would be better than first year?" Ron laughed a little hysterically. They were alive. "Not only would you have shrunk as much as you did, you'd also be squeaky."

"Bloody hell," Harry sat up and massaged his temples. "You're right, Ron. It could've been much worse."

Ron sat up and was greeted by a very familiar sight, a sight he'd not seen for almost twenty years after his exile. The crooked, mismatched tower-like building, the lack of architecture compensated for by the wonders of magic. It was the Burrow, in the English countryside, green and sunny. Without him knowing, tears began to flow over his cheeks, and Harry rubbed his back.

"I'm home," Ron whispered reverently.

"You are, Ron," Harry whispered. "Welcome back."

Ron tackled Harry into a powerful hug and sobbed into his shirt. Harry patted his back. Ron had his crying fits, more recently than before. After all, both their lives were broken, ofttimes miserable, and the two of them were hated by almost everyone including the Prophet.

"Do you think mum might be in there?" Ron asked hopefully, then his face fell. "What… what if there _is_ another Ron Weasley? What would I do?"

"Ron, isn't this the summer where your whole family went to Egypt?" Harry asked, and Ron's face lit up.

"You're right!" Ron stood up quickly and began walking towards his home. Harry quickly followed him, and Ron paused. "We're not wealthy," he admitted, "but we do have some security wards around our home. Likely more than usual since we were on holiday. Grab hold of my arm, and I'll get you past the wards."

"Right," Harry said, and gripped Ron's arm. The two of them continued to walk - and Ron felt a slight sensation of his skin as he bypassed the wards. A little like walking through a ghost, though nowhere near as obvious and likely not even noticed by anyone who wasn't as 'in touch' with magic as the two of them were.

"Bloody hell," Ron whispered, as he touched the polished doorknob at the entrance to their house. "It really is home."

"Your dad's shed is still there," Harry grinned. "With all his little gizmos."

"You know, as an adult, I have to admit my dad was a complete idiot," Ron said, and Harry laughed. "Seriously! The Ministry's resident expert on Muggles, and can't even speak to one without embarrassing himself in a single sentence."

"Your dad was a bit of a nutjob," Harry agreed.

They stepped through the door to reveal a rather messy sitting room. It wasn't a surprise, considering how much of a rush they'd been in when they packed and left. Harry reached toward a box of biscuits but Ron slapped his hand away. "Twins," Ron explained, and Harry recoiled from it instantly.

They found a buildup of newspapers by the window that post owls usually came through. The 'Daily Oracle' ("that's just weird," Harry said nervously. "I want to go home.") listed a few events, nothing of note. Eventually, Ron nudged Harry and their eyes settled on one particularly interesting piece. The front page - likely a slow news day - printed a large picture of a large family, standing before the Great Pyramids.

'_Weasley Family Wins Annual One-Thousand-Galleon Draw!_'

"Oh, Merlin," Ron whispered.

"What?" Harry glared at the picture until his face cleared and became somber. "Oh."

The picture only contained eight people - well, nine, if you considered Peter Pettigrew. Who was sitting on Ginny's shoulder. There was no sign of Ron in the picture. They began skimming through the article, copying the information down on imaginary parchments inside the library in their heads.

'_The Weasley family, known for having a large family of eight with six kids, won the annual Oracle thousand-galleon draw, and they commented that thye are greatly enjoying their holiday in Egypt to visit their eldest son, William, who is a curse-breaker for Gringotts_…'

"So I don't exist in this world," Ron said, a little miserably.

"I'm sorry," Harry said softly.

"No. No, it's alright. It's probably a better outcome than if there were two Ron Weasleys," Ron wiped his tears away with a sleeve, without even knowing he was crying. "One of us wouldn't have to kill the other, that way."

"That's good," Harry smirked.

"Instead, Scabbers belongs to Ginny… who is my age," Ron scowled. "So basically, in this world, I was born a girl instead of a boy. I've realized it's a bit hurtful to know that as a boy, I was unwanted, since they wanted a girl."

"I wonder if there's another Harry Potter," Harry said, ignoring Ron.

"We'll find out, won't we?"

Ron picked up the next day's paper which, as predicted, had a massive picture of Sirius Black on the front. '_Mass-Murderer Escapes Azkaban!_' the title read. They continued to read the article, and paused.

'_Sirius Black is infamously known for betraying the Potter family when they went into fighting during their tenacious fight against You-Know-Who. The Potter family was hidden under the Fidelius Charm (details on p.8) but their secret-keeper was Sirius Black. James Potter and Sirius Black were known to be the best of friends during their school years, and it was extremely unexpected for Black to become traitorous. The Dark Lord himself came to the hidden Potter house on the night of October 31st, where the late Peter Pettigrew perished in a duel against Black_…'

"What?" Harry exclaimed.

"Keep reading," Ron urged.

'_...perished in a duel against Black, where he was viciously blown up leaving nothing more than his finger. The Dark Lord temporarily disabled James and Lily Potter, and went to kill the eldest Potter child, James Jr., but somehow was destroyed._'

"Jesus Christ," Harry murmured. "So supposedly Pettigrew faked his death against Black on the scene of the crime, and this changed the timeline so that my parents lived instead of died? And apparently I have siblings?"

"Welcome to the world of siblings," Ron grinned. "Have fun."

"Fuck off," Harry muttered, before going upstairs. There was the sound of things falling from shelves, several curses, and after that, Harry came back down, clutching a bottle of firewhiskey. He grinned at Ron.

"Where'd you find that?" Ron asked.

"Your dad's study, obviously," Harry replied, before unscrewing the top and taking a chug straight from the bottle.

He suddenly gasped and retched, stumbling over to the sink. Ron rushed to his side and pounded on his back. "Hey, mate," Ron said. "What's wrong? Poison?"

"Nah," Harry said after calming down. "It's just that… I'm thirteen again," Harry grimaced. "Booze tastes like shit."

Ron's face paled. "You're telling me we can't drink anymore?"

"Looks like it."

"That's it," Ron said, snatching the bottle from Harry and heading back to his dad's study. "We're going home. Pack your bags." Harry's laughter followed him.

"But where is home?" Harry asked from downstairs.

This made Ron pause briefly before stashing the firewhiskey back in the hiding spot under his desk that his father utilized. He thought about this question as he came back downstairs. "I don't know," he admitted. "The fact that I was able to get through these wards prove that I am still Arthur Weasley and Molly Prewitt's child. I assume the same would be for you and your bloodline. But I'm guessing neither family would want to take us in."

"Yeah," Harry said softly. "Where do we go?"

"Grimmauld Place?" Ron suggested.

"Can't," Harry replied, and at Ron's confused look, "the only reason I was able to get into Grimmauld Place over in our world was because Sirius named me his heir. I assume in this world Sirius has a kid of his own and even if he doesn't, he's likely to have named James junior or whomever."

"But aren't you already Lord Black after Sirius fell through the Veil?" Ron asked.

Harry opened his mouth and closed it, like a fish, and Ron smirked. Harry stared intently at his hand where, to both their surprise, the Black Lordship ring appeared on his left index finger. "Bloody hell," Ron whispered, then grinned. "You have access to both Black and Potter properties, don't you? Because you're still the lord of both of them!"

"How… how does that work?" Harry spluttered.

"It's because the magic relevant to your Houses are innately tied to your life-force," Ron explained. "There would be no changing of Lordship until you die. When you do, the magic will transfer to whomever you've named your Heir."

"Then… what's happened to Sirius in this world?" Harry asked. "If I have the Lordship, what happens to his Lordship?"

Ron shrugged.

"I reckon we should look for Sirius, first," Harry said.

"Hogwarts?"

"I guess. I have no clue where he is right now," Harry sighed. "This is going to be a bit difficult, isn't it? We don't have a guardian to take care of our school matters. Do we know anyone who we'd trust to keep our secret, even if they don't know us?"

"Not Dumbledore," Ron grumbled. "Dumbledore will just try to use us as an extra pair of pawns for his grand game against Voldemort."

"Yeah," Harry sighed, and flopped onto a couch. Ron flopped onto an armchair. "Do you want to get adopted by the Malfoys?"

"No!" Ron blurted, and Harry snickered. "They'll never take us in, either. Unless they want your Black Lordship."

"I don't think it would be a good idea to join our actual families, either," Harry sighed yet again. "We'll mess up whatever timeline. I don't think Neville's gran would ever want us. We could ask the Diggories, I suppose, but I'm not sure…"

"We could cast an aging charm on one of us," Ron suggested. "Pretend we're our own parents."

"That could work," Harry rubbed his chin. "We'll pretend we're Muggleborns from America or something… no, wait."

"What?"

"If we had parents, we'd have to pay for Hogwarts tuition," Harry said. "We only have twenty galleons in the bank. That would only last us, what, a week?"

"You're right," Ron growled. "Bloody hell, this is impossible. We have to pretend to be orphans so we can go to school."

After several hours, the two of them were placed into an orphanage, tricking Muggle authorities with several well-placed _confundus_ charms. After another week of paperwork, they had entire identities forged (were they forged if they were legal?) and wrote a sob-story to Dumbledore. The old man with dementia was predictably moven by their tale (Harry and his in-all-but-blood brother, Ronald, whose adoptive father had died trying to save the two boys from a fire) and the two of them were soon enrolled in the school, with the necessary funds for schooling and equipment.

"Brilliant!" Ron said happily. "Pub?"

"We're thirteen, Ronald."

"Morgana's saggy tits!"

An owl had flown into their room on the orphanage through the window. They kept to themselves, mostly, and during their week here they'd gained their reputation as wallflowers, so nobody cared or noticed. They took the letter from the owl, thanked and petted it, and then began to read. It was jointly addressed to the two of them and basically said that a professor from the school would take them shopping in Diagon Alley.

"They better not put us in first-year classes," Ron grumbled.

"Oh, God," Harry paled. "That would be terrible, but no, I don't think so. Maybe for a while, but we'll pretend to be magical prodigies and we'll have us moved back up to third year."

"Sounds good," Ron grinned. "We'll say that we spent all our time studying and practicing, and then we'll say sorry for practicing magic outside of school, we didn't know."

"Good," Harry nodded. "Hey, Ron?"

"Yeah?"

"What if I get into Slytherin?"

"Well," Ron said thoughtfully. "I wouldn't disown you. In fact, I'd make you wipe the floor with Malfoy and then I'll have you introduce me to Daphne Greengrass."

"I'm not sure she's into gingers," Harry smirked.

"I hate my hair sometimes."

"Speaking of which, we should probably change that," Harry said. "Otherwise you'll look exactly like the other Weasleys, and they might get suspicious. In fact, I should probably change my hair color, as well."

"Agreed," Ron said.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore was generally quite stoic, having witnessed thousands of schoolboy pranks during his long tenure as a transfiguration master and later as Headmaster. However, the two orphans were certainly not what he expected.

"I'm looking for Harry and Ronald Stark," Albus told the matron of the orphanage.

"Oh, of course," the woman said, and led him to the room. "Poor boys, they got here a fortnight or so ago. They were offered places in a prestigious school in Scotland, see, but their father couldn't afford it."

Albus felt a pang of guilt as the matron knocked on the door and a voice called to them, saying the door was open. The lady nodded at Albus, who politely opened the door and came face-to-face with two boys. They both had similar-colored hair, but their facial features were wildly different, which provided more evidence that the two of them were adopted, before the father was killed in an accident.

"Hello, you two," Albus smiled. "I am Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts. I received the letter you sent me."

"Hello," the boys said in unison.

Albus pulled a chair from the desk and sat. "My sincerest condolences about your family, boys. I have witnessed many people I love fade away during my life… and I know that the pain never goes away. I only hope that you might find some happiness at our school."

"I'm sure we will, sir," one of the boys said, holding out his hand politely. "I'm Harry."

"I'm Ron," the other said. Albus shook both their hands and looked at each of them in turn.

"I read that your father passed on as much knowledge of magic to the pair of you as he could," Dumbledore said, stroking his beard. "Perhaps you could give me a demonstration on what you've learnt, later?"

"Of course, sir," Harry said.

"Wonderful," Albus smiled. "Shall we leave for Diagon Alley?"

"Yes, sir," both said enthusiastically.

As this particular orphanage was not quite far from the Leaky Cauldron, the three of them walked. Dumbledore was delighted to learn that these two boys, despite not having a formal education, were quite well-informed, especially in the field of charms; they demonstrated sound knowledge of the silencing charm, despite that being fifth-year material.

"You two are certainly advanced, aren't you?" Albus mused. "Any secret powers we must know about?"

To his surprise, Harry hesitated at that. "I can talk to snakes," he whispered. "Can other wizards do that?"

The boys watched in muted concern as Albus' face became a chalky white. He forced his expression into a grandfatherly smile before he answered. "It's a rare ability, child," he said. "Uncommon, but not unheard of."

Harry smiled a slight smile, then, and Albus was reminded of one other child who'd asked that question before. "I knew I was special," Harry said softly. "I knew it. Even with Ron, and my father, and the people in Diagon Alley… I knew I was special somehow."

Albus was rather determined not to look at the boy for the time being. He passed through the relatively empty Leaky Cauldron, out into the back alley, where he tapped select bricks in a wall, creating an arch into Diagon Alley.

"So," Albus smiled at the two of them, although a little more nervously than before. "We'll have to get your textbooks, and of course your equipment. Are there a few things that we can skip, or will we have to go through everything?"

The boys' eyes glanced down at their feet. "Everything we owned burned away, sir," Ron said softly. "Everything. All our books, potions ingredients, clothes, even our wands."

"I'm sorry." Albus clapped his hands down on the boys' shoulders. "Let's get started then, shall we?"

Meanwhile, the two men-stuck-in-boys-bodies were trying their hardest not to laugh. Ron had seen memories of a young Tom Riddle secondhand from Harry, and the way the Headmaster's face turned into the color of spoiled milk forced him to bite his tongue painfully so that he wouldn't laugh. Meanwhile, both of them had wands, Harry had two in fact - one of them being the Elder Wand. Neither were worried about what might happen if identical wands came in close contact, because the two Elder Wands - one on Harry, the other on the Headmaster - had not reacted explosively yet.

When they reached Ollivander's, to their surprise, the old man was taken aback. Usually, it was the other way around.

"Hmm," Ollivander said.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry whispered to Dumbledore.

"Patience, Harry," Dumbledore smiled, while Ron snickered.

"It means, Albus, that these boys might take an extremely long time to find the wand that will accept them," Ollivander said softly, surprising the old Headmaster. "Albus, why don't you go ahead and buy the boys' books, if you haven't already? I fear this will take some time."

"Of course, Garrick," Dumbledore nodded. "I shall meet you back here, then, boys."

As Dumbledore exited the building, the two boys looked at each other than at the ancient wandmaker. This had not happened to either of them before, although Harry had taken quite some time to find a wand. They narrowed their eyes at Ollivander.

"What is the meaning of this?" Ron asked.

"I would recognize my creations anywhere," Ollivander said softly. "However, I know for a fact that both your wands have never been purchased, by anyone, and that must mean that your wands are still sitting in a box somewhere inside this store. How can this be?"

"Interdimensional travel," Harry shrugged. "Come on, old man. Can we have our wands?"

"I don't know what will happen to either of your wands if identical wands come near it," Ollivander whispered. "It may explode, it may stop working. Are you willing to risk hurting your wands for this?"

Harry shrugged, and pulled out his Elder Wand. The poor old man's eyes almost jumped out of his head. "Well, I'm certain Dumbledore was carrying his own Elder Wand, so I don't think anything's going to happen."

Ollivander hesitated, before nodding. "Very well," he sighed. "May I have the specifications of your wands?"

"Holly, phoenix feather, eleven inches," Harry recited.

"Willow, unicorn hair, fourteen inches," Ron recited.

"Very well," Ollivander said in a tone that suggested he did not enjoy doing this. A minute later, he returned with two boxes in hand, one red and one blue. He handed the red one to Harry, and the blue one to Ron.

Harry took out the wand from the red box and smiled. The feeling of the magic at his fingertips was exactly the same as the first time. He whipped out his own holly wand, and compared the two alongside each other. One was brand new, the other was a little worn, but both produced warmth from his palms to his heart.

Ron was also grinning at his side, comparing the two wands. Suddenly, as if the wands were two poles of a magnet, the twin wands - both pairs - started to dive for each other. Harry and Ron's eyes widened, both after glancing at each other, allowed the two to merge. A bright flash of light from both wands; they blinked, trying to see, and once their vision was restored, they held two super-wands, smoking.

"Oh, wow," Ron grinned, holding up a wand pale and almost metallic in appearance. "Nothing's changed, except it looks cooler."

Harry grinned back as he held up his own wand, slightly longer but more importantly, now blood-red. "Agreed."

"Oh, my," Ollivander breathed. "Give it a little swish."

Ron swished his wand through the air, and bright white sparks - incredibly bright, like burning magnesium - coursed through the air. Ron willed his magic to stop flowing into the instrument, and it did; Ollivander and Harry were blinking spots out of their eyes.

"Well, that seems to suggest that your wand completely agrees with you," Ollivander said, gripping the counter tightly. "Perhaps you might wand to go outside for a demonstration," he added to Harry, who smirked.

"I suppose we won't have to pay, considering we're not buying a wand you made?" Harry said, and the old man spluttered. "We're kidding. Here, fourteen galleons from our personal vault. Now we only have six left."

"Oh, uh, well," Ollivander said.

"Harry, let Dumbledore pay for it," Ron said in a low voice. "We're poor enough as it is."

"True," Harry agreed. "We can always brew some Felix Felicis and go looking for money pouches on the ground later."

The boys chuckled as Ollivander sent a rabbit-shaped Patronus to Dumbledore, asking him to return to the store as soon as he was done shopping. Dumbledore returned to find an exasperated Ollivander and two grinning boys, holding up somewhat unusual-looking wands. Dumbledore's eyes twinkled.

"I trust the boys haven't been giving you too much trouble?" Dumbledore asked Ollivander.

"Their wands have," Ollivander grumbled, and the boys chuckled.

"Thank you for taking care of them," Dumbledore said, as he paid for two wands. "Shall we go, boys?"

Dumbledore had purchased them both standard school-trunks and had filled it with their textbooks, including two Monster Book of Monsters which were tightly bound with leather belts. Going for easy Os, the two of them had elected to take Muggle Studies and Care of Magical Creatures. It wasn't as if they were going to be learning anything at school, anyway.

They went to the apothecary to collect the necessary ingredients, before they went to purchase secondhand schoolrobes ("but Professor!" Harry whined. "We want robes like yours!" Dumbledore smiled and stroked his beard, admiring his metallic-azure robe decorated with sparkling pineapples in the mirror) and Dumbledore then purchased the two of them ice cream from Fortescue's, his treat.

"Thanks, Professor," Harry grinned as they tucked in.

"I haven't had ice cream in a while," Ron said. "The last time I had it, I remember we had rum-flavored… I mean, nothing."

Dumbledore chuckled as he licked his own butterbeer-flavored ice cream. The two of them spent some time talking, discussing theoretical transfiguration even (much to the surprise of the Headmaster), discussing Quidditch teams, and discussing what the classes were like. Both of them already knew what classes were like (transfiguration-charms-defense good, potions- divination-astronomy-history bad) but asked anyway to make themselves more normal-looking in the Headmaster's eyes.

"Thank you so much for all this, Headmaster," Ron grinned. "I'll see you in another two weeks."

"You most certainly shall," Dumbledore smiled, before escorting them back to the orphanage and apparating back to the castle.

"Alright," Harry said. "Do you remember who won in this upcoming game of Quidditch? We're gonna bet all the money we own."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

"So what did the goblins say again?"

"They said Sirius and I are both Lord Black," Harry grinned. "That means I own everything he has. I am also still Lord Potter. If the Potter family are giant knobs, I can take out all their money into a different vault."

"Why couldn't you have been Lord Malfoy or something?" Ron groaned. "I would love to see that ponce wearing second-hand robes."

They shuffled through the barrier at Kings Cross between platforms nine and ten, coming out to Platform Nine-and-three-quarters. They were immediately overwhelmed by nostalgia; Ron was never married and didn't have kids, while Ginny had taken custody of Harry's kids and further effected a restraining order against him that prevented him from going a hundred feet near herself or his kids. Bloody sexism.

They looked around for familiar faces. They scowled as they saw an aristocratic family whose males seemed to be made up only of platinum-blond clones. They brightened slightly, but were also saddened at the sight of a large, redheaded family. They grinned as they saw a slightly chubby boy and his grandmother in a vulture hat.

"Is that your family?" Ron suddenly whispered, nudging.

Harry glanced to where he was gesturing, and found that his throat was constricting, making it difficult to breathe. There was a woman with straight red hair, going halfway down her back, as well as a literal clone of his older self (he scowled; he wasn't a bloody Malfoy!) but with hazel eyes. He also spotted a boy who might look like his twin had Harry not changed his appearance significantly since arriving in this world. And another child, a girl this time, with dark brown hair and the green eyes of her mother.

"Hey," Ron said softly, gripping his arm. Harry realized that he'd stepped forward towards them. "I don't think this is the best time," he continued diplomatically. "Maybe later, yeah? Make friends with James Jr. or something, then we'll talk to them."

"Right," Harry chewed his lip as his best mate guided him onto the train.

"Should we look for their cabin?" Ron asked, as they walked down the aisle.

"Nah, it'll probably be full," Harry shrugged. "After all, this is the year we meet Lupin, right? So they'll have three kids and one adult. Assuming that James Jr's sister sits somewhere else."

"Yeah," Ron sighed.

The two of them sat alone throughout the trip, quickly changing from Muggle jeans and t-shirts into school robes. When the trolley lady came, they spent some of their winnings from outrageous bets in the English Quidditch League to buy some pasties and the like. They spent the rest of their time reading books or Muggle cards.

It had been a surprising transformation. After graduating, Ron had become a bibliophile to rival even Hermione, although he only read books for pleasure, generally fiction. However, he did have a Russian literature phase when he was about twenty-five, and it had surprised everyone he knew to see him sitting and reading a book as thick as _War and Peace_.

As they expected, about halfway through the ride, the train screeched to a halt.

"Dementors," Ron muttered to himself and drew his superwand. "You know, I still can't get over the fact that this wand is bloody awesome."

"Neither," Harry grinned, holding his thirteen-inch holly superwand.

Tendrils of frost began to cover the windows, and both boys shivered as their breaths steamed in the air. They saw a cloaked shadow looking through the compartment door, so Ron threw it open. "Eat this, you creepy bastard!" Ron shouted, and together, the two boys pointed their wands at the creature.

"_Expecto Patronum!_"

A mongoose leaped out of Ron's wand, a relatively small but nonetheless brave and aggressive creature, charging at the now screaming Dementor, slashing and biting at its robes. From Harry's wand burst an impressive crow, several times larger than normal, which charged the Dementors head-on. The two Patroni split up and charged through both directions through the train.

After a minute, a wolf patronus sprinted past them, and after another bone-chilling minute, the train began to move once more. The boys grinned at each other as they stowed their wands and sat back down. "I wonder if a strong enough Patronus can actually kill a Dementor," Ron mused.

"We know the killing curse can," Harry said, looking back down at his book. "It severs the soul from the body, right? So as soon as the Dementor's absorbed souls are gone, it starves, loses its magic, and dies."

"Does that mean that Dementors can be killed by being kissed by other Dementors?" Ron asked, and Harry stared at him.

"How are we going to pull that off?"

"Imperius?"

Harry rolled his eyes and went back to reading. They were interrupted once or twice by people who were looking for someone or something, but it was otherwise peaceful; no more Dementor breaks. When the train finally reached Hogsmeade, they followed Dumbledore's suggestion and followed the first-years, so they could experience the castle for the first time.

"Firs' years! Firs' years over 'ere!"

They grinned as they encountered the cheerful half-giant. They saw the terrified first years and cracked up. Harry randomly selected a blonde girl, patted her shoulder reassuringly, making her jump a whole foot in the air.

"Ye two don't look like firs' years," Hagrid eyed them suspiciously.

"We're in third year," Ron shrugged. "But we're transferring."

"Right, right," Hagrid rumbled, nodding. "Come on, then. No more than four to a boat!"

Harry and Ron allowed themselves onto a boat, and were joined by a very shy-looking boy and a very confident-looking girl. Harry and Ron realized with a start that the girl was James Jr.'s sister. They looked at each other awkwardly, before deciding not to start their conversation. They couldn't resist, however.

"Did you know there's a giant squid in the lake?" Ron whispered, his eyes widening in mock fear. The shy-looking boy squeaked, while the girl only arched an eyebrow. "I hope we don't encounter it. It's big enough to fight whales!"

"Really?" The boy squeaked.

"Don't listen to them, Brian," the girl rolled her eyes. "There's a giant squid in the lake, but my brother and my parents say that it's quite friendly."

"Even squids need to eat sometimes, you know," Ron whispered, and the boy was terrified.

"Did you know that giant squids have serrated suckers?" Harry continued in a terrified whisper. "That means that if the squid grabs you, and you try to move your limbs away, your flesh gets flayed off."

The eleven-year-old boy was absolutely horrified and his face was paler than the moon. Apparently some kids in nearby boats were also listening, and equally terrified. The Potter girl was no longer sure of the squid's friendliness and safety, but she did look determined.

"Surely there aren't fish in the lake big enough for a giant squid to eat," Harry said conversationally to Ron.

"Yeah," Ron frowned. "I can understand big fish being in the ocean, but not in a lake. The squid must have to make do with whatever happens to be in the lake at the time. Maybe it eats the merfolk?"

The rest of the boat ride continued in a heavy, terrified silence. The first-years around the two of them seemed to be determined not to look at the surface of the water. "At least Hagrid is here to protect us," Harry said, taking pity on the kids.

Ron wasn't done. "But the squid is ten times bigger than Hagrid!"

Harry couldn't help it, and burst into laughter. Ron tried to be disapproving, but eventually he too began to laugh. At this, all the first years began to give the two of them the stink-eye, and the Potter girl was furious.

"Why would you say any of that?" She hissed angrily. "Do you enjoy bullying kids that are younger than you?"

"Actually, everything we said was true," Harry retorted. "The only thing that was funny was watching your reactions. We weren't exaggerating about the squid at all."

The girl gulped. "Well, you're still terrible people."

The fear felt by many of the kids was soon forgotten as they came into view of the castle, and many gasped or whistled. The castle, from this view, was quite beautiful and definitely majestic; it was perhaps designed to awe, and even cow the students into behaving more respectfully. After all, being able to stay in a castle like this must be a privilege. They disembarked the boats and began to idle toward the castle. The two boys hung back so they could speak comfortably.

"So what's our plan here?" Harry asked.

"I think we need to set a few goals for our five years in Hogwarts," Ron said. "Number one?"

"Find Ravenclaw's diadem and destroy the horcrux without damaging the actual diadem," Harry said. "The killing curse should do that, right?"

"Yeah," Ron agreed. "Lot easier than the sword. I think Number Two should be piss off Snape to the point he quits."

"It'll be difficult getting Dumbles' pet Death Eater to go crazy without being expelled ourselves."

Ron gave a crooked grin. "We can try, can't we?"

"We certainly can, Ronald. Number Three, kidnap Fawkes and the Sorting Hat."

"Hat is easy, Fawkes is not."

"Fine. Steal the stupid lemon drops, then. Or lace them with something."

"We can do that," Ron agreed. "Number Four. Ask McGonagall on a date."

"Jesus Christ!"

"Oh, shut up, Harry. We're both forty-eight. I think. McGonagall is only twenty years or so older than us. Plus, she's a widow, Harry! She's lonely!"

"She would never sleep with a student."

"Not while sober."

Harry snorted. "Number Five. When Umbridge shows up, we transfigure her into a human-sized toad before feeding her to Buckbeak."

"That's easy!" Ron grinned. "I can do that. I got a good one. Number Six - learn that spell McGonagall used in the Battle of Hogwarts that brought all the suits of armor to life and blockade all the common rooms and staff offices."

Harry laughed. "Brilliant. What about Number Seven? Magic number?"

"I dare you to sleep with your own sister."

Harry gaped at his cackling friend. "Are you mad? Fine, I'll do that if you decide to sleep with Ginny."

"No!" Ron gasped. "That's not fair! She's not even my sister, she's literally me if I were female!"

"I got an actual good one," Harry said, his face turning serious. "We'll get Hagrid pardoned, and we'll get him a wand, and he'll join all our classes as a student, and we'll piss everyone off with him in our group."

"That's a pretty good one," Ron agreed. "But the diary was already destroyed. How are we going to get Hagrid pardoned?"

"Don't know. Veritaserum?"

"He's half-giant. Won't work on him."

"Damn," Harry said softly, and their conversation faded into silence.

They finally joined the first-year students, who were in the midst of getting lectured by McGonagall. They didn't bother listening, instead seeing who could stay inside a ghost the longest without chickening out (the ghosts were very upset about this). They were reprimanded by McGonagall, and they tried to look ashamed - but remembering the Number Four goal, they dissolved into giggles, which led to McGonagall drawing her lips into a line and being glared at by the other kids.

"We'll have to be at least in sixth year," Harry said. "We can't ask her on a date when we're not even as tall as she is." Ron only smirked.

"You know, you're not as short as you used to be," Ron commented.

"Am I not?"

"I think it's because in the other world you kept getting starved by the Dursleys," Ron frowned. "I suppose right now you look like how you would've looked if you had a healthy diet while growing up."

"Huh," Harry mused. "That's cool."

They stood around, bored, as they watched the many first-year students get sorted. After ten miuntes, they were reprimanded by McGonagall again for sitting down on the floor and playing exploding snap ("...disrespecting the other students, how would you like it if the other students did the same thing during your sorting?") and were forced to stand like everyone else. Instead, they decided to look around the Hall and try to find everyone they knew.

In Slytherin, there was Draco Malfoy with his more-product-than-hair hair, Pansy Parkinson, Goyle and Crabbe… most of them were unchanged, and even if they were different personality- wise, neither of them knew those kids well enough to see a difference. Instead, they turned towards the Gryffindor table. Neville was still definitely shy, the twins were breaking the rules and chatting with each other, Hermione clapped politely for every single student.

Then there was James Jr.

James looked like his dad, except his hair was a little straighter and less messy; likely his mother's influence, who coincidentally was sitting at the staff table as the Muggle Studies teacher. He was also quite stocky, a little shorter than Harry currently was and more buff. He was probably a beater or a chaser, but his frame did not make for a seeker at all.

"Should we both go to Gryffindor?" Ron whispered in his ear, and Harry nodded.

"Potter, Iris!"

The entire hall watched the young brunette walk confidently to the stool, where she was sorted to Gryffindor within moments. The red table cheered loudly and Harry turned to Ron. "They'll call my name out first, but why don't I tell them where to go? No offense, but you're definitely not Slytherin, so in case I end up in Slytherin, I'll be sure that you won't follow."

"I'd rather be in Slytherin with you than two Houses separately, mate," Ron said.

"Come on, trust me. I'll make it worth it, I promise," Harry grinned mischievously. Ron realized that Harry was going to do something ridiculous, and wanted to make it a big show, so he wanted to go last.

"Are you going to make a speech again?" Ron asked.

"No, you can do that. You can confess your love for McGonagall," Harry said, and Ron smirked.

"Fine, I'll do that. But whatever you do better top it, or I'm gonna be disappointed that I couldn't go last."

"Everyone will be _so_ offended."

"Stark, Harry!"

McGonagall looked at the last two boys who were standing off to the side. Ron took a deep breath and walked towards her. When McGonagall raised an eyebrow, he stage-whispered toward her. "My brother is having a stomachache, probably nerves, so he wanted me to go first," Ron explained, and McGonagall nodded.

"Stark, Ronald!" She called instead. "Is that satisfactory?"

"Yeah, thanks," Ron said, before pausing. "Then again, it could just be the pasty on the train that smelled funny."

McGonagall pulled a face and Ron smirked as he sat down on the stool. As he felt the Sorting Hat enter his mind, he saw the students murmuring to each other. They were obviously discussing why two third-year students, according to Dumbledore, were being sorted. Were they transfer students? Were they smart, powerful? _Were they anyone that mattered?_

'_Interesting_," the Hat said inside his mind. '_But a quick choice. I want to put you in Hufflepuff. You have great loyalty to your best friend_.'

'_Yeah, I know. But we agreed to both go to Gryffindor where we can piss off our siblings_.'

'_A noble goal, and charging into something without really knowing anything about it… most would call it foolish, but Godric called it bravery. In that case, you shall go to_…'

"GRYFFINDOR!"

The red table clapped as Ron stood up and took off the hat. McGonagall tried to retrieve it from him, but Ronald paused her, and this act silenced everyone who clapped. Who dared cross McGonagall? McGonagall's eyes narrowed; she was already skeptical of the two boys, after they started misbehaving during her earlier speech. However, Ron only conjured a bouquet of red roses and handed it to a shocked McGonagall.

"I just want to thank this school for taking me in," Ron said loudly, as he handed McGonagall the Hat without looking. "I would especially like to thank the Headmaster for personally escorting Harry and myself to Diagon Alley, teaching us about magic and about the school." He looked toward Dumbledore, who nodded graciously. "However, most of all, I would like to thank the Headmaster for giving me the opportunity to meet the lovely Transfiguration Mistress Minerva McGonagall."

The student body and McGonagall herself gaped, while Dumbledore's eyes twinkled like mad. Before he could be immobilized and silenced, Ron continued. "Had it not been for this opportunity to come here, I do not think I would have met her and realized what true love might be." The crowd roared with laughter and cheering, and wolf whistles pierced through the hall. "Call it a schoolboy crush, but I think I will pursue her to the end of time if it meant she would return my affections." Ron looked at McGonagall and gave a rather convincing shy smile, and she simply looked mortified.

Ron skipped down to the Gryffindor table who cheered (the twins being the most vocal) and he sat down, waiting for the thunderous applause to end so he could see Harry get sorted. Soon enough, the crowd became quiet again, and McGonagall looked at the Headmaster, who nodded. "Stark, Harry," she called weakly.

Harry grinned triumphantly at the crowd before settling down at the stool. The Hat was placed on his head, and Ron watched the clock tick. It continued ticking, ticking. Harry's head drooped and his face was out of sight. After about six minutes, a very long time to be Sorted, the Hat shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!"

As it shouted, Harry jumped out of his skin, and the hall laughed appreciatively. Harry handed the Hat back to McGonagall, before standing at the front much like Ron did. The hall became quiet as Harry beamed at the students. The Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs watched on in anticipation, while the Slytherin and Ravenclaw students looked distrustful.

"Hi, everyone!" Harry grinned. "I'm Harry Stark!"

Then he turned around and mooned them.

Thunderous laughter and groans and screams mingled together as Harry quickly pulled up his pants and jogged to the table before any of the teachers could yell at him. While Ron laughed loudly, the twins had fallen off their benches, Percy was pale, James Jr. grinned appreciatively, and all the girls were either bright red or covering their eyes with their hands. Ron pounded Harry on the back as he sat next to him.

"Beautiful," Ron said, wiping a tear from his eye. "Absolutely beautiful. I bet only Sirius would have been brave enough to do that."

The professors looked horrified, at least the ones that saw what he was doing (it was very hard to see from their position). Thankfully, Snape did not see anything, but the Headmaster was laughing loudly, McGonagall was petrified, Lily Potter was burning bright red, Lupin was covering his face with his hands and Pomfrey's head was resting on her empty plate. Whether she was just tired or had fainted, the boys did not know.

"Well," the Headmaster was still chuckling as he addressed the school. "I… I have a few announcements. Magic is still banned between classes, as are certain joke items. As you may know, due to the Sirius Black situation, there are Dementors surrounding the school." His face became serious. "I tried to petition otherwise, but the Ministry was not willing to listen. Please, please do not wander outside the school boundaries for any reason except official Hogsmeade visits, and please travel in as large a group as possible when you do. This also means that you _will_ follow curfew. But, that's about it for now. Tuck in!"

As Harry and Ron ate, the Weasley twins jumped onto either side of them. Ron quickly resisted the urge to touch his brother (he was pretty sure this one was Fred) wonderingly, and he also resisted the urge to cry. However, apparently the Weasley sensed his sadness, because the massive grin on his face slowly slipped away.

"Hey, is something wrong?" Fred asked.

"Nothing. You just… you look uncannily like a very close friend of mine who died," Ron said quickly, and Fred's face fell. Ron forced a smile. "Anyway, what's up?"

"Nothing, dear Ronald. I just wanted to say-"

"Well, _we_ wanted to say-" George joined in.

"That we see some pranking potential in the two of you," the finished together, beaming benevolently down at them.

"Only potential?" Harry asked dryly, as he continued to eat.

"Alright, fair enough," Fred admitted.

"You have a lot more than just potential."

"In fact, that was probably one of the most daring pranks of all time."

"Truly belongs in Gryffindor."

"House of the brave."

Ron and Harry smirked at the twins, who smirked back. "You call yourself the resident pranksters, then?" Ron said. "Fine. You just better make sure we don't steal your title."

The twins grinned. "Are we going to have a prank war, or a prank truce?" They asked.

"Truce," Harry and Ron said. "We're bloody poor, you know," Harry said.

"Practically peasants," Ron added.

"We don't really have the resources-"

"-to engage in a prank war."

The twins blinked at the two boys who had somehow just managed to copy their twin-speak, even if it were only for a short time. They nodded and turned away, whispering to each other. They had some competition now, it seemed.

After a fulfilling meal, making small talk with Jim Potter (who had been thoroughly impressed by the sheer size of the two new boys' balls) and ignoring the glares sent at them from just about every girl in the school, they went up to their dorm room - they only occupied two beds out of the five in their room - and discussed their day.

"We're one step closer to Goal Four," Harry said, and Ron laughed. "I assume that McGonagall's spell from the battle will be somewhere in the library, probably in a book related to the history of the school. We know where the diadem is, so we can do that tomorrow."

"Yeah," Ron grinned. "Shall we do it before breakfast and rock up wearing the diadem?"

"Actually, I want to grab Slytherin's locket while Sirius isn't home," Harry said. "We'll wake up early, we'll hide under my invisibility cloak and we'll sneak out of Hogwarts' wards, I'll apparate to Grimmauld, and you go back to the Room of Requirements. We'll grab the diadem and the locket and we'll meet up at our room. Deal?"

"Deal," Ron nodded. "Well, I guess we best go to sleep early, huh?"

"Yeah," Harry agreed.

The two of them brushed their teeth, took a shower, and quickly went to sleep. They set the alarm for four in the morning, well before the sun rose and well before any of the teachers would be waking up.

* * *

"I can't believe you! You went off and got literally all of them!"

"Oh, shut up, Ron. I'll share with you. Which ones do you want?"

* * *

"I cannot believe the nerve of them!"

That morning, Daphne Greengrass and her best friend Tracey Davis were in an argument. Pureblood princess Daphne thought that the behavior of those two boys - who were in their year, and they would undoubtedly encounter in class! - was absolutely despicable, while half-blood Tracey thought that they were absolutely hilarious.

"It means they have a sense of humor," Tracey grinned. "They've only just stepped foot inside the school and they're already hilarious. I think that's brilliant."

"It was absolutely vulgar, that's what it was!" Daphne hissed. "He… he, pulled down his trousers! This is _exactly_ why we shouldn't be opening the school to Mudbloods!"

"Hey, that's not nice."

Tracey and Daphne whirled around to find the two boys in question. Daphne groaned while Tracey beamed at them. They were dressed in secondhand school robes, but they seemed to be wearing expensive jewelry for some reason. And was that a sword?

"Plus, we're both half-blood," Ron said.

"Hi Ronald, Harry," Tracey chirped. "I'm Tracey Davis, and this is my best friend Daphne Greengrass."

"Oh, dear," Harry said with a lopsided smile that had won him Teen Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile award twice in the past. "What could we possibly have done to draw the attention of two beautiful ladies such as yourselves?"

"You may have drawn our attention, but certainly not for good," Daphne snarled.

"Forgive her, she has no sense of humor," Tracey smiled.

"Well, as our father always used to say, 'there's no such thing as bad publicity.'" Harry chuckled. As he went to scratch his neck, the blood-red stone on a thick, heavy-set gold ring on his right forefinger gleamed.

"Who was your father?" Daphne narrowed her eyes.

"Oh, Gilderoy Lockhart," Harry said breezily, and Ron choked as he tried to take a sip from his heavy golden goblet.

"That buffoon?" Daphne was about to blow up, so while Tracey was immensely enjoying Harry and Ron (they were obviously joking… right?), she still had to hold Daphne still by her shoulders.

"Hey, that's rude. He tried his best, you know?" Ron said. "You shouldn't talk ill of dead people, either."

"He's not dead," Tracey put in.

"He is to us," Harry shrugged.

"If your father is really Lockhart, why are you dressed in secondhand robes?" Daphne demanded.

"We said, he tried his best." Harry shrugged. "We never said his best was very good."

Tracey and Daphne were both close to exploding, although for different reasons. Unable to take it anymore, Tracey guided Daphne towards the great hall, failing to contain her giggles. This apparently infuriated the usually cool, collected girl even more, and as they disappeared around the corner, Harry and Ron heard them erupt into a shouting match.

"I wonder what happened," Harry said.

"No idea," Ron replied, taking another sip from the cup.

They eventually followed the girls into the Great Hall. After gathering all that attention yesterday, the entire hall fell into heavy silence as the two boys grinned at them. At the head of the staff table, Dumbledore let out a small, choked sound as he realized what he was seeing. At the Gryffindor table, Jim Potter whispered, "oh, Merlin."

"What?" Ron frowned, as he adjusted Ravenclaw's diadem atop his head using the merged Elder Superwand, and took another sip from Hufflepuff's cup.

"Yeah," Harry added, adjusting Gryffindor's sword on his belt and stroking Slytherin's locket with the finger that bore the Gaunt ring. "What are you all staring at?"

"Why do you have that sword?" Jim blurted.

"This?" Harry drew the sword of Gryffindor, the blade gleaming as magnificently as its many embedded jewels. "I just found it. I was coming here for breakfast and it was lying on the ground, so… finder's keepers."

Dumbledore began to sob.

"Why are you wearing a tiara, Stark?" Malfoy asked snidely from the Slytherin table.

"Oh," Ron frowned at him. "Well, I thought it was pretty neat when I found this one in the toilets, so I washed it and put it on. It's kind of weird. I feel smarter when I wear it."

At this comment, the Ravenclaw students' eyes widened dramatically. Hovering above the Ravenclaw table, the Grey Lady had actually fainted, to the shock of the students and Professors. When Ron idly used the Elder Wand to scratch his back, Dumbledore burst into tears and ran to his office.

"Any other questions?" Harry asked sarcastically, but the Hall was deathly silent. "Good."

The two boys walked over to the Gryffindor table where they sat down and ate, speaking casually about things that didn't matter, and in the process infuriating everyone in earshot who wanted to hear about the strange tiara and sword instead. Soon enough, the students realized that they weren't going to get any more information, so they returned to quiet muttering and occasional glances their way.

Eventually, the Heads of House began handing out timetables. Ron and Harry grinned; all of their classes were the exact same. They were especially looking forward to Creatures; that was the only class that could still make them feel extremely challenged and excited - excited as in, fight or flight, adrenaline, terror.

"Um, Harry?" Jim asked tentatively. "Where… where did you get the Sword of Gryffindor?"

Everyone who heard that whipped their heads around so hard that it likely caused a few whiplashes. Harry shrugged, returning everyone's expectant gazes uncomfortably. "I told you, I found it on the ground. It's not much of a story, really."

"The Sword of Gryffindor doesn't just appear on the ground," Hermione said through gritted teeth. "Where did you find it?"

"Why are you guys so intense?" Harry complained nervously. "Why do you guys think I'm lying? I'm not lying, really."

Harry's fingers were crossed in a pocket.

"Did you steal it from the Headmaster's office?" Hermione shrieked, and everyone nearby clapped their hands over their ears.

"Geez, I don't even know you, lady! Calm down!" Ron yelled back.

"Do you sincerely think that I could break into the Headmaster's office?" Harry asked rhetorically. Hermione huffed angrily at that. He probably shouldn't tell her that he actually did break into the Headmaster's office.

"And what about Ravenclaw's Diadem?" Percy asked loudly, gaining the attention of the Ravens who were sitting nearby. Stupid, stupid Percy!

"Oh, is that what it's called?" Ron shrugged casually, to the horror of all students listening. "Is it important?"

"Of course it's important!" Percy shouted indignantly. "It's an important piece of Hogwarts history, and a priceless magical artifact on its own!"

The entire hall was silent as they listened to Percy shout. Ron opened his mouth, and closed it. Then he opened it again. "It's a good thing I looked before I pooped, then."

There were horrified screams all around, and Percy's face turned as red as his hair. Harry, unable to hold it in, laughed until tears ran down his face. The Grey Lady had to be taken to the hospital wing, and McGonagall quickly left the hall to drown herself in her firewhiskey. Snape's face was completely frozen in an expression of terror, no doubt wondering how someone wearing the diadem could still be so stupid.

"To be honest," Ron said, and the hall was silenced again. "I didn't think it was that impressive. If you hadn't told me, I probably would've given it to the girl I like in my Muggle orphanage."

Horrified screams went up again, and absolutely furious ones from the Ravenclaws especially. It was a good thing Dumbledore left earlier, because otherwise he might have suffered an aneurysm. Ron and Harry were having a lot of fun, but they also had the strange feeling that they might be lynched very soon, so they pelted from the hall to the relative safety of the Gryffindor dorms.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

It had to be said.

"The classes are unbelievably boring," Ron complained.

While this wasn't a common complaint from dear Ronald, it was strange that he actually managed to _excel_ in all of his classes. He wasn't so good with the theory-based classes, like astronomy or history (though frankly, who cares?), but they set the bar ridiculously high for the more practical classes, like charms, transfiguration, and defense.

They weren't really planning on doing anything at all in these classes, but the thing was, they felt a little sorry for Flitwick because he tried his hardest to engage the students, McGonagall was just plain too scary when you didn't listen to her instructions, and Lupin was too infatuated with James Potter Jr. to even realize the two of them existed until Harry's boggart turned into Molly Weasley.

"How dare you treat my only daughter like this?" The boggart screamed as Ron laughed and Harry cowered under a table. "If I had my way, you'd be penniless and living on the street! I can't believe all those love potions I slipped into your chocolate fudge didn't work! Not that it matters anymore… because we have all your money now! Ha-ha-ha-ha!"

"_Riddikulus_," Ron said lazily, which turned Molly Weasley's robes into drag attire. Neither Harry nor Ron were really sure if Ron's spell had actually worked, or if it had just turned into Ron's boggart.

"Was… was that my mother?" Ginny asked weakly.

"Who are you?" Harry asked, brushing the dust off his robes.

"Ginny Weasley," Ginny Weasley said. "And your boggart was my mother."

"If you say so," Harry said skeptically.

"O, Father who art in Heaven," Lupin was muttering to himself. "Next time… one-on-one boggart confrontations…"

The two of them surprised Snape by producing a near-perfect shrinking solution. Potions is in fact a surprisingly fun, and interesting subject - if it were taught properly, anyway. The two of them had actually gone so far to apprentice under the Immortal Alchemist Nicholas Flamel after the war. Nick had only agreed to take them in after Harry and Ron claimed they were going to produce a philosopher's stone and create so much gold that it bankrupted the world economy. They unfortunately hadn't gotten around to that before Perenelle Flamel chased them away with a pair of garden shears after they came home drunk at seven in the morning and pissed on her lemon tree.

"What did you do, Stark?" Snape demanded.

"We made a shrinking solution?" Ron answered, confused.

"There's no way you followed the instructions," Snape snarled, and he managed to bite back _because those instructions are purposely imperfect_. "How did you do it, then? How did you cheat?"

"Professor," Harry said slowly, as if talking to a child - or an idiot, either was close enough. "Potions is not an exact art. In fact, it is more like cooking." At this comment, Snape's face became red and he was about to yell at him, before Harry cut him off. "Many people can have different interpretations on how to prepare a cheesecake. However, no single one is the 'correct' method. In fact, I would assume that you yourself would have a preferred recipe for a cheesecake, and also for a shrinking solution."

"Potions-is-not-cooking," Snape growled.

"It is, sir. You're chopping, dicing, baking, boiling, adding ingredients to get a desired effect. I know this very well because I took culinary classes."

Indeed, at one point in his life, Harry and Dobby had gone to take culinary classes together. Both were extremely precise and good, but the problem was that they had no _imagination_. They needed to learn how to _create_, not just cook. And they learned quite a lot, going so far as to opening their own restaurant. However, since they had apprenticed after famous Muggle chef Godric Ramsey, they ended up swearing in every sentence for the next three years.

"Sir?" Harry said. "You seem to think that cooking is a… distasteful art."

"I do," Snape sneered. "One hundred points from Gryffindor for talking back to, and annoying a professor."

"I don't think that cooking is a distasteful art," Harry said dreamily. "In fact, it's a very fine art of its own. I know you're a world-class potioneer, and I know it took a lot of effort for you to get there. Well, world-class chefs also require just as much practice, and failures on the way to learn from it. In fact, why don't we cook dinner for you tomorrow, professor, since it's Saturday? I can show you the difference between house-elf cooking and Harry P-Stark cooking."

"I wouldn't trust you not to poison me," Snape sneered. "Two hundred points from Gryffindor."

"Let's make a bet," Harry said confidently. "If my cooking is not satisfactory to you, you can take one thousand points from Gryffindor." At that, Snape's eyes gleamed. "If my cooking impresses you, you have to take one thousand points from Gryffindor."

"Wait, what?" Hermione asked quickly.

"Deal," Snape said immediately. Then he looked down on the two boys with distaste. "Your potion is… acceptable."

Ron and Harry looked at each other in amazement, as well as just about everyone in the classroom. To be pronounced 'acceptable' or 'adequate' by Snape was to essentially ascend to God-hood.

Back in their common room, Harry and Ron were bored.

"Quidditch tryouts are on Sunday," Ron said casually.

"Oh? I wonder if we'll make it," Harry replied boredly.

What nobody knew was that the two of them both received offers to go pro - and not some dog-shit team like the Cannons, either. Harry insisted on joining the Harpies, but unfortunately that was an all-women's team. Ron wanted to join the Cannons, but was declined on the basis that his hair clashed with the team colors too much. Harry had laughed the entire day. So, they were initiated as honorary members of the Montrose Magpies - but they could give any of the actual members a run for their money.

"What are you going to cook for Snape?" Ron asked.

"Maybe something spicy enough that all his grease will catch on fire," Harry said, and Ron chuckled. "I dunno, really. I was thinking of jambalaya, but maybe it's just me wanting jambalaya. No! I'll make him a nice steak. It's always easy to appreciate a good steak."

"Dobby!" Ron called, and a house-elf dressed in a dirty pillowcase popped into existence beside them.

"Who is masters?" Dobby asked suspiciously. "Dobby is free elf."

"We know," Harry shrugged, looking up from his book. "Dobby, we know that Jim Potter freed you-"

"Oh, yes, most wonder master is Master Jim Potter!" Dobby squeaked excitedly. "Dobby is loyal to Master Jim Potter sir!"

Harry and Ron smiled sadly. "And we wouldn't want it any other way, Dobby," Harry said quietly.

"I repeat my question," Dobby said firmly. "Who is mysterious troublemaking masters and why is they calling for Dobby?"

"The thing is, Dobby…" Harry sighed. "We're going to be trusting you with quite a secret. Is that okay? While we don't expect you to hide all this information from Jim Potter and his friends, we would also like some time to assimilate into the current environment. We need you to keep our identities secret for… probably at least a few years."

"What secrets, troublesome Masters?" Dobby narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "Are youse telling Dobby that youse is Sirius Black, come to harm great Master Jim Potter sir?"

"Nothing like that," Ron said, and unshrunk a pensive that was in his trunk, which he'd put in a pocket on his clothes when they went through the Veil. "I'm sure this will clear it up a bit more. Harry?"

Harry held the tip of his wand to his temple and drew out a shimmering mist, which he dropped in the basin. Harry gestured to Dobby, but Dobby only narrowed his eyes at him, so Harry sighed and dived into the water. Dobby followed soonafter, and then, he gaped.

The memory began with Dobby sitting on Harry's terrible, broken bed, telling Harry not to go to school. Then using a floating charm to trigger the magical Trace. Then Dobby visiting Harry in the infirmary. Then Harry tricking Lucius Malfoy into freeing Dobby. Then it moved on to the various adventures that Dobby, Harry and occasionally Ron had together, before and after the fall of Voldemort, including the time the two of them went to Godric Ramsey's cooking classes, opening up their own restaurant in Diagon, them raiding Malfoy Manor and Dobby wiping his arse on the silken bedsheets… and then, Dobby's death. Dobby was crying as the final image showed two middle-aged men, both of whom had lost everything and everyone important in their lives, jumping through the Veil in hopes of a better world.

"Youse comes from a different world!" Dobby squeaked. "And youse helped Dobby in this other world… you are the Great Master Jim Potter Sir of the other world!"

"My name was Harry Potter, but yes," Harry smiled fondly at the house-elf. "You were a very wonderful friend to me, and… I was looking forward to seeing you again."

"Strange master calls Dobby a friend!" Dobby bawled. "Dobby has only been treated kindly by Great Master Jim Potter Sir and Great Mistress Hermy Grangy Ma'am!"

Ron chuckled. "No Ginny Weasley?"

"Wheezy girl is very rude to Dobby!" Dobby crossed his arms angrily. "All Wheezy does is copy Mistress Hermy's homework and play chess!"

Harry smirked at Ron. "That is some harsh self-reflection, hey?"

"I want to go home," Ron mumbled.

"Anyway, Dobby," Harry said, looking at Dobby now. "Remember how we spent some time learning how to cook?"

"Well… that is not the memory of this Dobby, sir," Dobby said.

"Well, yeah. But I know I can trust you with cooking, and you saw your own skill," Harry grinned. "You opened up a restaurant operated only by house-elves, for Merlin's sake! It became extremely popular, you know."

"I will take cooking classes as soon as possible with permission from Master Jim Potter Sir," Dobby said firmly. "Dobby will open restaurant with house-elves and earn monies and donates to charities, sir."

"Yes," Harry agreed. "Well, Dobby, I want your help tomorrow. I told Professor Snape that I would cook him something to show the difference between ordinary cooking, and world-class cooking. So tomorrow, for dinner, I am going to make him a steak. I will need several hours to do this, and I will give you instructions for creating the mushroom sauce, for example. I will show you how to cook a steak, if you're willing."

"Dobby would be honored, Master Harry Potter Sir!" Dobby said excitedly.

"However," Harry said firmly. "My name isn't Potter anymore. Since we came to this world, Ron and I have become Ron Stark and Harry Stark, so people don't get suspicious. We need you to still keep our secret for a while. Is that okay?"

"Of course, Master Starks sir," Dobby nodded.

"Thank you, Dobby. I expect I'll join you in the kitchen at noon, tomorrow. Please let the other elves know that I will be needing some of their space."

"Of course, Master Harry Sir," Dobby bobbed his head again - God, it was always funny when he did that, since his head-to-body ratio was the exact same as a bobblehead figurine - and beamed up at him before popping away.

"He's still just as excitable, isn't he?" Ron grinned.

"I love that elf," Harry said fondly. "I'm glad he was so agreeable today."

That evening, the two of them casually walked down to the Hall for dinner, but on their way walked past the enchanted hourglasses that showed the House points. They saw that the Gryffindor House points were in the negatives. They sniggered.

* * *

When Severus Snape sat down at the staff table that day, he did not expect a team of house-elves dressed as waiters and waitresses rush to cater him. The staff and the students both stared as a bewildered Snape was ushered into his own table for two, covered in a pristine white tablecloth, and decorated with a set of candles in a glass jar, emitting a gentle orange light.

This was extremely thorough. He even saw that, to his left, beyond the forks and spoons, there was a small plate carrying a bread roll and some butter. A house-elf refilled a tall cylindrical glass with water, the ice-cubes floating on top. Snape blinked as they all rushed away, while one bowed. "Your meal will be ready shortly, sir," it said in a baritone voice that was certainly not expected from an elf.

Dumbledore allowed the feast to begin for the rest of the students, and then stood beside Snape to examine the layout. "This looks very professional," Dumbledore commented. "Did you order something from the elves? Or perhaps you're waiting for a lady?"

"No!" Snape spluttered. Although he did somewhat wish that Lily Potter would join him now. "I… I do believe this is part of Harry Stark's challenge, however. He is trying to prove that cooking is just as fine an art as potioneering," his lips curled into a sneer as he finished his sentence.

"Well, he seems to be doing rather well so far, isn't he?" Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling. Suddenly, the same waiter-elf as before showed up.

"Headmaster," it spoke in its deep voice. "You have been invited to dine with Professor Snape, if you wish to join."

"That would be lovely," Dumbledore agreed. With a snap of the elf's fingers, a straight-backed chair identical to the one Snape was sitting on materialized from thin air, and the elf carefully tucked Dumbledore in. "Thank you, Benedict Elf the Third."

"My pleasure, Headmaster," the elf rumbled, before disappearing.

After a minute or so, the elf appeared carrying two plates, and set one of them before each man. "Here are your appetizers, sirs," Benedict the Third said. "Grilled zucchini salad with shredded parmesan."

Even the damned appetizer was threatening to overwhelm Snape. It smelled so heavenly. Dumbledore thanked the elf and began to tuck in, obviously enjoying the meal. Snape spent another minute poking around the food, checking of nonexistent poisons. Reluctantly, he pierced the soft flesh of the zucchini chunks and placed it in his mouth.

It was amazing.

Soon enough, the two men were chatting amicably (or at least Dumbledore was) and Snape was reluctantly admitting defeat already. He hadn't even had his main meal yet! Soon, the elf reappeared and made off with the empty plates. As Benedict was leaving, another elf appeared with two crystal goblets and a bottle of wine clutched in her hands.

"Chateau Noir, 1989, _Snuffles_," the elf squeaked. "This fine wine comes from magical property in Bordeaux. We hopes youse enjoys."

The elf poured the wine and Snape smelled the slightly fruity smell of Cabernet. He swirled the wine in his glass, admiring just how brilliant it smelled - like sunshine and love - and briefly wondering who the hell named their wine _Snuffles_ before taking a sip. It was absolutely brilliant.

"I do hope that young Harry isn't spending too much on this challenge," Dumbledore mused.

"Not at all, sir," Harry appeared, grinning, carrying two plates. "In fact, I got that from my godfather's winery. Free sample. Anyway, here are your main courses - Chateaubriand with mushroom sauce and sautéed baby carrots."

He laid the plates of steak in front of them. The steak, mushrooms and carrots were all steaming, and the sauce filled Snape's nostrils with pure deliciousness. Dumbledore smiled at the boy before slicing into a steak; it was completely red on the inside, a perfect medium-rare, and the rich sauce dripped down its side. Snape took a hesitant bite, and almost fainted as the juices from the tender beef spread throughout his mouth.

Now that Harry disappeared, Snape could enjoy the steak in peace. He really didn't want to admit it was good, he really didn't. But it was simply undeniable. He finished the steak and the carrots, and Harry himself served slices of red velvet cake for dessert, and Snape wanted to cry. He'd never eaten something so amazing in his life before.

"Your judgment, sir?" Harry asked politely as Snape drained his second glass of wine.

Snape stood up, gathering the attention of the students and teachers, who had just about finished their own meal. "In potions yesterday," he began loudly, his voice echoing down the Hall. "Mister Harry Stark claimed that cooking was as fine an art as potioneering. Naturally, I… disagreed." He scowled. "He offered to cook for me, and he did. Now, I have revised my opinion, and must admit that Mister Stark was in fact correct. I would like to deduct one hundred points from Gryffindor for Mister Stark's cheek."

Roars of outrage rose up from the Gryffindor table, but Snape continued to speak. "However," he said loudly. "However. Mister Stark and I made a deal. He won his end of the deal today for his spectacular culinary abilities." He paused, looking at Harry, who was grinning wildly. "As per Mister Stark's condition, since I admit that cooking is as fine an art as potioneering… I will take one thousand points from Gryffindor."

The red table cheered loudly before it dwindled and the students realized what happened. Harry was doubling over laughing. Nobody ever claimed that Gryffindors were the brightest of the lot. Eventually, the cheering completely faded away and turned into shouts of anger. Snape left the Great Hall, his black cloak billowing behind him.

* * *

"Hey!" Fred shouted.

"Those are our brooms!"

"Do you have proof?" Ron asked, as they floated a little higher, out of their reach.

"Yeah," Harry echoed, following Ron. "You got any proof?"

"They have our names on them!" George cried.

Harry looked on the underside of his broomstick, and sure enough, in Molly Weasley's handwritnig, it read 'George Weasley'. Ron also checked his broom and found out that it belonged to 'Fred Weasley'.

"Actually, it says Fred, and George," Harry called. "But I thought your name was Gred and Forge?"

"Get back down here or our prank truce becomes a prank war _right now_!" Fred shouted.

Since they weren't really making a good impression with the Gryffindor Quidditch team right now, they grudgingly returned to the ground and handed the twins back their brooms. Instead, for tryouts, they had to settle for two contraptions from Madam Hooch's stock that were apparently produced in the bronze age.

"Will we have seeker tryouts?" Harry asked, raising his hand.

"Well, we actually already have a seeker," Wood said.

"But what if I'm better than her?" Harry asked, pointing at the female version of Ron. "Anyone who idolizes the Cannons should not be allowed to play."

"I do not!" Ginny shouted at him. "I'm all for the Harpies, thank you very much!"

"That's only a little better," Harry growled.

"Sorry, all," Ron grinned. "Harry still doesn't like the Harpies from that time they rejected him due to his being male."

"So much inherent sexism…" Harry muttered loudly. "Anyway. I want to try out for seeker. If I can get two out of three snitches, you make me seeker."

"Are you sure?" Wood asked, peering at Harry's half-dead broom. "Ginny has a Nimbus Two Thousand, you know. She's the youngest seeker in a century or so."

"Are you going to doubt everything I say?" Harry demanded. "Of course I'm sure. Release the snitch, and after one minute, we both set off. Whomever finds the snitch two times out of three gets the seeker position."

"Alright, then," Oliver sighed, and held up the golden snitch. He threw it into the air as hard as he could, and stared at his watch. "Ready? Three… two… one… go!"

Both Harry and Ginny sped off on their brooms; the latter did so in a matter of seconds, while Harry had to coax his broom like it was a stubborn mule. Ginny was already flying around, searching for the snitch. Harry forced himself to Ginny's altitude. He grinned at Ron, who didn't seem so sure that Harry would win considering how damn slow his broom was.

"Yes!" Harry shouted, and upended his broom, forcing it into a steep dive. He reached out with one hand. Spotting this, Ginny hurtled after him; even with the massive gap between them, she quickly caught up, and began giving chase.

However, Harry had a lot more experience (not that they knew). He rolled over, his body underneath the broom, in a sloth-grip roll. He continued to roll around, preventing Ginny from overtaking him. As the soil approached him, Harry pulled on his ancient broomstick with all his strength. Ginny shrieked as she jerked her broom to avoid a collision with Harry. This knocked her off balance, her broom clipped the ground, and she was sent heads over tails for fifty feet, resulting in a broken arm and a concussion. It could've been worse, Harry shrugged.

"You just incapacitated my seeker!" Wood shouted.

"Oh, come on!" Ron argued. "That was obviously him being the better seeker! That was the most advanced Wronski Feint I've ever seen!"

"Slothski Feint," Harry corrected him from the air, holding up the snitch.

Oliver Wood grumbled under his breath and humored Harry with a couple more snitch-throws. Each time, even on the ancient broom, Harry managed to find and capture it within thirty seconds of takeoff. Wood grudgingly admitted that Harry was a good seeker, while the twins, who had just seen their brooms stolen then their sister suffer a humiliating defeat in their seeker duel, loudly protested.

"I wanna sign up for chaser!" Ron said enthusiastically. Angelica, Katie and Jim Potter glared at him. "I could always go for keeper, too," he frowned, but was met with a stony gaze from Wood. "Actually, I think I prefer chaser," Ron said quickly.

While Ron displayed unbelievable talent on his bronze age-broom, they were obviously not the kind of people that followed instructions well, so Ron was placed on the reserve team. Harry and Ron threatened to complain to McGonagall, but Fred pointed out that McGonagall was avoiding Ron ever since he made the claim that he was in love with her. So, unfortunately, they had no allies; Ron and Harry were both placed in the reserve team, and the three Weasleys vowed that neither of of them would ever play for Gryffindor so long as they were alive.

That evening, when they returned to their dorms, there was a box of chocolates lying on their beds. Knowing that they were from the twins, the boys did not try to open them. Instead, they had Dobby place these on Crabbe and Goyle's beds. The next morning they heard a rumor of two bludgers with arms and legs being transported to the hospital wing.

* * *

Harry and Ron did an admirable job of annoying literally everyone over the next couple of months.

Draco was annoyed because the two half-bloods refused to rise to his very obviously baiting insults, and continued to address him as 'Lucius Malfoy'. Daphne was annoyed after she learned that the same immature boy who'd mooned the entire school was wearing the revered Slytherin's locket. Marcus Flint was annoyed because Harry had flown against Slytherin and taken Draco completely out of commision using the exact same method as he had with Ginny.

Hermione was annoyed because, despite obviously not putting _any_ effort into classwork or homework (most of the time they just didn't bother to submit it), they completely trounced her in the tests and exams. Ginny Weasley was annoyed because the two of them had stolen Scabbers, put him in an unbreakable cage, and stuck him at the top of the Whomping Willow. The twins were annoyed because their pranks continued to somehow backfire on them, and they kept getting into trouble for things they actually _didn't_ do.

McGonagall was annoyed because the boys had forged a howler from Ogden's Old Firewhiskey Co. and publicly congratulated her on being Ogden's most loyal customer while also expressing concerns about her alcoholism. Sprout was annoyed because someone had snuck Cedric Diggory a copy of the _Communist Manifesto_ and painted the entire Hufflepuff House firetruck-red. Snape was a little bit more than annoyed because someone had enlarged his muscles, changed all his robes into black body armor, and sent him a pointy-eared superhero mask.

However, not a single one of them could do anything, because firstly, Ron and Harry had impressed Jim Potter to no end, and second, because both were best friends with Dumbledore, who thought their pranks were the best thing since sliced bread. Furthermore, the boys had further allied themselves by wearing Dumbledore-style robes that blinded everyone that came across them and repelled Snape and Filch like pesticide.

Finally, it was October 31st.

"Today is the day that Sirius breaks into the school, right?" Harry asked.

"I guess so, considering everything bad happens on this day, every year," Ron shrugged.

"Yeah," Harry said. "I'm pretty sure I divorced Ginny on this date."

"Really?" Ron smirked. "I'm pretty sure it's also the day your name got picked from the Goblet of Fire."

"It's also the day Dobby died," Harry murmured.

"And the day that my telly got stolen!" Ron said angrily.

"It's also Malfoy's birthday," Harry said.

"Really?"

"It must be. He's a menace to society," Harry shrugged. "Did you know that Malfoys clone every twenty-five years?"

"Wow," Ron breathed. "That's a scary thought. Does that mean if we kill Malfoy now, there won't be any more Malfoy clones?"

"No," Harry said seriously. "Every time a Malfoy dies of anything other than natural causes, they split into two. They're like hydras. They're also like clownfish in the way that when the younger Malfoy reaches sexual maturity at 25, the elder Malfoy changes into a female and the two Malfoys mate."

Ron shuddered. "Let's stop talking about Malfoy now."

The two of them snuck outside the portrait underneath Harry's invisibility cloak. They silenced themselves, as well as using a spell to get rid of their smell, so that Mrs. Norris, Crookshanks, and Sirius himself could not detect them. They waited with their wands out and waited for Sirius to show up.

It was about an hour after midnight when he did. A large, black dog pattered toward the portrait of the Fat Lady ("that's not nice," Harry murmured, "this is exactly why we need the body positivity movement.") and transformed into a skinny, black-haired man. The Fat Lady was snoozing as Sirius held up the knife.

"_Stupefy_," Ron whispered, striking Sirius in the middle of his back. They quickly approached Sirius and picked him up like a sack of potatoes, traveled through the secret passageway between Hogwarts and the Whomping Willow, where they bound Sirius and _ennervate_-d him. Sirius gasped at the sight of the two of them, and snarled.

"Who are you?" He croaked.

Ron conjured Sirius some water as Harry leaned back in his leather armchair. "We're just two men who plan on getting you pardoned."

"Men?" Sirius laughed.

"Oh, shut up," Harry snapped. "I have Pettigrew in my possession, you know. If you wanted me to kill him and remoev any chance of you getting a pardon, you only need to ask."

Sirius' mouth snapped closed.

"Well, since you have a Kiss-On-Sight order, we're going to have to go to the MLE ourselves," Harry said to Ron. "Then we'll get him pardoned. If that doesn't work, we'll shrink Sirius until he's down to our size, and make him go through school all over again."

"Can we do that anyway?" Sirius asked.

"It's a lot more boring than you think," Ron said, receiving a confused look from the man. "Trust me. You have to relearn everything and Merlin! Maybe we can run away from Hogwarts at the end of this year?"

"Nah," Harry said. "This time I'm determined to take Fleur Delacour to the Yule Ball."

Ron snorted. "That's not going to happen," he said. "She called you a _leetle boy_, remember?"

"It's her loss, then," Harry shrugged.

"Who's this girl?" Sirius asked. "Yule Ball? I don't remember anything like that."

"Shame," Harry said. "They're hosting the Triwizard Tournament, see. Although I suspect it might something like Quadwizard. Or maybe even Hexawizard."

"Triwizard Tournament…?"

"Look, once we've freed you, we'll let you go through our memories in a pensieve," Harry said. "Anyway, for now, we need to have you staying put, preferably not here in case the Ministry drags their feet and you're still here the next full moon. Because Lupin comes here, right?"

"Lupin…?"

"He's teaching Defense this year," Ron said testily. "Look, we can't free you unless you cooperate. Tomorrow, first thing in the morning, we'll go to the Ministry and show them Pettigrew and have them dose him with Veritaserum."

"We'll probably go to the Prophet, too," Harry added. "And we'll do our best to get Fudge fucking _lynched_."

"Fudge…?"

"I think you've broken him," Ron smirked. "Maybe that Azkaban visit made him a little cuckoo after all."

This snapped Sirius out of his daydream? Whatever it was. "You try sitting with only Dementors and Bellatrix LeStrange for company, and we'll see just how sane you are by the end of it," Sirius snapped. "Just be glad you've never had to set foot in Azkaban."

"Actually, I have gone to Azkaban, once," Harry said, and Ron snickered.

"A kid as young as you?" Sirius said wearily.

"Yeah, man. I got shitfaced and got arrested because of noise complaints and public nudity," Harry said, while Ron cackled. "I managed to escape the next day, but I couldn't escape the hangover for two whole days. Also," Harry leaned into Sirius' face and glared at him. "You're not allowed to call me a kid. Not now, not ever. And don't call me 'pup', either."

"Why would I ever want to call you 'pup'?" Sirius asked.

"Because I'm your godson," Harry replied, and Sirius gaped.

"You're Jimmy?"

"Fuck off. I'm nothing like that boy," Harry shuddered, and Sirius glared at him. "Sirius, I'm warning you now, you won't like him. He's a _goody-two-shoes_! His mother has corrupted him! I asked him what girl he rubs out to, and he didn't even know what I was saying!"

"No way," Sirius gasped.

"Yes way. We're much better because, technically, we're older than you," Ron smirked.

"What?"

"Oh, shut up, Sirius. I'll have Dobby bring you some food and reasonable clothes. For now, just go to sleep," Harry drew his wand and silently conjured a queen-sized bed, much to Sirius' surprise. "Sweet dreams, Padfoot."

"Night night," Sirius said, and only until the two boys had left did he wonder why they knew he was Padfoot.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter****Four**

"The Wizengamot calls this session to order," Fudge said wearily. "We gather here today, on the seventh of November, into the offenses committed by Sirius Orion Black. Interrogators: Cornelius Oswald Fudge, Minister of Magic; Amelia Susan Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; Dolores Jane Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister."

"I demand the usage of Veritaserum!" Sirius shouted, before being silenced.

"_Hem hem_," a voice called, and Harry resisted the urge to kill everyone in this room including himself. "Surely if this murderer is _demanding_ Veritaserum, he is doing so under the belief that he can resist it? Would it be wise to give him any more credibility?"

"Madam Undersecretary, we both know that very few people can resist the effects of Veritaserum," Madam Bones said. "Only the most advanced Occlumens may be able to do so, and even then only briefly. Sirius Black, while powerful, does not have Occlumentic barriers strong enough to resist the serum, and especially not after twelve years with the Dementors."

"Perhaps we should place him there for another twelve for the sake of caution-"

"Madam Umbridge, would you yourself also like to be investigated for the illegal incarceration of Sirius Black?"

Umbridge snorted in a very unladylike, very uncouth manner. However, nobody was claiming she was ladylike or couth in the first place. Was this what blood supremacy came to? Even Lucius Malfoy was shaking his head. Between the wonderful pureblood lines of Goyle, Crabbe, Parkinson, and Umbridge, _surely_ the purebloods reigned supreme above all others.

"Please bring in our newest prisoner," Madam Bones called, and Pettigrew was brought in. When he saw the many stares of people aimed at him, many of them pensive but not too few suspicious, he began to quake. He fell on his knees!

"Please!" He cried, aiming his voice at Dumbledore. "I was so scared! I needed to hide from Black…"

"Please administer the Veritaserum," Madam Bones said, obviously already bored of the man's pleas. The Auror guards stepped forward, and while two grabbed his shoulders and forced his mouth open, an Unspeakable stepped forward and administered three drops of the liquid onto Pettigrew's tongue. Using magic, he was forced to swallow before he could spit it out. "Prisoner. You have been brought here on the suspicion of aiding the Dark Lord V-Voldemort," she and countless others shivered or stiffened, "in the assault of James Charlus and Lily Julia Potter, as well as the attempted murder of James Charlus Potter Junior. We shall begin your interrogation now. What is your name?"

"Peter Parker Pablo Pettigrew," Pettigrew said tonelessly, though when he finished speaking, he broke into hysterics again.

"Why are you called that?" Sirius couldn't resist asking before he was silenced again.

"My mother, Sophie Sarah Shiela Sanderson, said that having the same initial would eventually make for a catchy rapper name when I entered the world of hip-hop," Pettigrew said dully, and a hint of confusion broke through his trance-like state. "I don't know what she was talking about." Sirius was laughing, at least by the motion if not the sound.

"Peter Pettigrew, how did you know the location of the Potter residence on October 31st of 1980?" Madam Bones asked.

"I was the secret-keeper," Peter said, and the hall dissolved into outrage. Politicians were shouting, insulting others, claiming they knew of Sirius' innocence the whole time. Sirius himself looked to be in a murderous rage, and if he couldn't reach Pettigrew due to his restraints, Sirius looked to be comfortable murdering whoever was closest instead.

"Order!" Dumbledore roared. "Thank you," he added quietly when the people settled down. "May we proceed?"

"We may," Bones said stiffly. "Pettigrew, records suggested that you had died. How did you survive the night of October 31st, 1980?"

"Sirius was always a soft man," Pettigrew said tonelessly, and while Sirius looked embarrassed, everyone who had once doubted his innocence seemed to look ashamed. "He stunned me, instead of killing me. When the Dark Lord arrived, he woke me, and told me to fake my death so that I could continue to be in his service, safe from the grips of the law."

"Why did Lily and James Potter name you, Pettigrew, as their secret-keeper?" Bones asked.

"The Dark Lord, while the pair were unconscious, performed a memory charm on them," Pettigrew said, raising gasps from the crowd. "He said it would work in my favor, because it would imply that _I_ was the one to fight on James' side, not Sirius."

"Why did the _very caster_ of the Fidelius, Albus Dumbledore, not know who the true secret-keeper was?" Bone barked, and suddenly, the entire room was glaring at Dumbledore.

"Dumbledore knew," Pettigrew responded, sending the entire room into outrage. "However, the Dark Lord knew his plan would work because Dumbledore held a long grudge ever since Black pranked him by replacing his lemon drops with raspberry drops. Regardless of whether Black went to prison or a Death Eater did, Dumbledore would still 'win'."

"Are you admitting that you are a Death Eater?" Bones asked quickly lest she had too much time to think about what Pettigrew had just said and lose her sanity.

"Yes, but I was more than that." Pettigrew was squirming, obviously not wanting to say anything, but failing to resist the compulsion to tell the truth.

"What was your exact relationship with Voldemort?"

"I was his whipping boy," Pettigrew blurted after a long moment of silence. "I would be punished instead of his generals if they didn't succeed in their missions. I volunteered because I like pain and humiliation," he finished, his face turning bright red and tears running down his cheeks.

After a short silence, Sirius began to laugh. Prompted by that sound, everyone else began to laugh as well, as Pettigrew cried into his manacled hands. It was so absurd that even Dumbledore's predicament had been forgotten. For now, at least. Dumbledore always knew that Peter's… peculiar personality would eventually help him out one way or another.

"If you liked that, then why did you hate when we the Marauders bullied you?" Sirius asked.

"I did enjoy it," Pettigrew choked, making Sirius laugh harder.

"If you sincerely enjoyed Black's company, why did you choose to betray him and the Potter family?" Bones queried, a smirk threatening to form on her face.

"Because the Dark Lord is more sadistic," Pettigrew said, his face burning. "I enjoyed his treatment of me more than I enjoyed Black's treatment."

"That has certainly explained quite a lot," Bones said, finally smirking, and turned to Sirius. "Sirius Black, you have hereby been pronounced _not guilty_ of all charges. As part of an official apology from the Ministry, your minor fine for failing to register your Animagus form has been rescinded. As for you, Peter Parker Pablo Pettigrew," Bones spoke harshly and somehow without laughing, "You are hereby charged will all that Black was charged with twelve years ago, alongside additional crimes you may have committed under your service to Voldemort."

Fudge banged his gavel (probably the only part of his job that he knew how to do) and both Sirius and Pettigrew were escorted out, though with different amounts of respect. Dumbledore tried to quickly disappear before Sirius or anyone else remembered his own crime, while Lily Potter, who had been observing on behalf of Lord James Potter, tried to escape the crowd to reach her old friend. Her memory was coming back after she heard the truth from Pettigrew himself.

For most, today was a good day.

* * *

"Since Sirius Black was proclaimed innocent, the Ministry has decided to withdraw the Dementor guard," Dumbledore announced as a shudder of relief spread through the Hall.

"Just in time before the Gryffindor-Hufflepuff game," Harry murmured to Ron.

"However, this still doesn't mean that you're allowed to break curfew or make unauthorized trips to Hogsmeade or the Forbidden Forest…" he looked pointedly at the two new boys who were causing the other professors (because the Headmaster really didn't care about the school anyway) before returning to his speech.

Jim leaned in. "Still? I thought the pair of you were going out into the Forest _with_ the Dementors."

"Anything is twice as much fun when you don't have permission to do it," Ron declared proudly.

"Yeah, that's why you got fired from the Auror department," Harry said dryly.

"Then I ended up getting recruited by the Unspeakables. Sounds pretty good to me," Ron shrugged.

Another month and a half passed by without much happening. Ever since the Dementors had retreated and Pettigrew had been caught, there had been no other trouble. They were bored. Sometimes, they began meeting up with Sirius, inviting him over to the school (with Dumbledore being very happy to give permission for an activity that made the lives of his already underpaid employees even harder), drinking and pranking. A certain Malfoy was generally the recipient of all these pranks, although all three of them addressed him as 'Lucius'.

"It's technically true, isn't it?" Ron had told Draco once. "Your name is Draco Lucius Malfoy. You're essentially Lucius Malfoy."

"The reason people refer to me as 'Draco' is because people refer to _my father_ as 'Lucius'," Draco said through gritted teeth. He was doing an admirable job of not being himself, in other words, not making a fool of himself.

"Have you ever wondered why you don't resemble your so-called mother at all?" Harry asked, and Draco looked confused. "I'm surprised you don't know, this is an important fact about the Malfoy line. All Malfoys are clones of their 'fathers'. When you turn twenty-five, Lucius Abraxas Malfoy will become an aphrodisiac and you will mate with him to produce a clone of your very own."

"How dare you insult my parentage that way!" Draco shouted.

"Now, now, Draco," Ron said soothingly. "We're not shaming you for your heritage and asexual means of reproduction. We're just letting you know so that it's not a surprise when the time comes."

Malfoy stormed off while everyone stared at him. While the Stark brothers were known for being outlandish and outrageous, they couldn't deny the fact that Draco looked _nothing_ like his mother. He might very well be a carbon copy of his father when his father was Draco's age.

"So that's why Draco looks only like a Malfoy," Ron said loudly. "Because he's the offspring between an aphrodisiac Abraxas Malfoy and Lucius Malfoy."

The Hogwarts Rumor Mill was having a field day.

Slytherin was famous for having its legendary feud with Gryffindor. This rivalry had lasted for a very long time, ever since the two founders had their supposedly legendary dispute. However, Slytherin was finding yet another enemy in their school, and one they would never have expected - Hufflepuff.

Hufflepuff was now redder than Gryffindor, and Cedric Diggory had actually petitioned to the Headmaster if they could change their House colors to red and yellow, instead of just the latter. Since the Headmaster only loved things from Gryffindor, he agreed happily. Ever since the whole house had undergone an image-change.

First of all, the Slytherins, many of whom were made up of kids from old pureblooded lines with the considerable wealth to boot, were finding themselves in confrontations with members of the House previously thought to be nothing more than leftovers. The Hufflepuffs came to the aid of the house-elves (though everyone was quite certain the elves didn't care for it) and tried to organize a house-elf revolution. It flopped majorly.

However, the Slytherins quite often reported that their clothes were not being washed, that the quality of their food at mealtime was lower than the other houses (this had nothing to do with Hufflepuff, however, it was just Harry and Ron introducing the Azkaban Meal in honor of Sirius), and that their possessions occasionally went missing. Gryffindor no longer dominated inter-house politics, Hufflepuff did, because the usually reserved and meek House wasn't taking shit from anyone anymore.

In fact, Hannah Abbott, the girl who had a crush on Neville (and Neville had a crush on her) quite plainly demanded that if the two of them were to visit Hogsmeade together, Neville would have to abandon any intention of continuing his ancient house (and considerable wealth) and relinquish his property to those less fortunate. Neville was now terrified of the girl. Furthermore, Sprout had finally been converted, and now she often ranted about the unfairness of the current society instead of actually teaching Herbology.

Some of the Slytherins had adopted the slogan 'Better Dead than Red' (Harry might have had a hand with that) and begun a war in the shadows which like had never been seen in the school's history. Slytherin students all but stopped going to any class that couldn't be reached from their common room in less than two minutes; any longer and they would be confronted by the filthy communists.

Soon it was Christmas. Harry and Ron were finding the whole situation very amusing. The Hufflepuff students were, instead of buying presents, pooling their money together so they could purchase a large bronze statue of Marx for their Common Room. They had already started sharing each others' clothes and even underwear, so why stop there? Harry and Ron had jointly sent Cedric a present (Harry made sure to sign, 'I made sure to choose something that can be shared with your comrades' or otherwise Cedric wouldn't accept), which contained an old Soviet flag, a Russian-English dictionary, and a Russian learning textbook.

In return, Cedric ("on behalf of Hufflepuff house") had sent Harry and Ron a pair of shining badges, which were shaped in the Hufflepuff house and was decorated by a badger, except the badger was yellow and the background red. It appeared they wanted to honor the two men who had introduced them to the glorious gift of communism, and so the two boys pinned the badges to their chest in pride.

"You open mine first," Ron said to Harry.

It was a large, flat, but thin present. Maybe a picture book? Harry opened it to discover that he was half-right. It was a calendar, in fact, one of those saucy calendars that have ladies in bikinis and their photos taken by pervy cameramen who seemed to have passions for cleavage shots. Except, this calendar exclusively featured Ronald Stark, who had transfigured his chest into E-cups, wearing a red string bikini on a variety of backgrounds. It really was _not_ a pleasant sight considering that he showed off the very obvious bulge between his legs.

"Jesus fucking Christ," Harry said, covering his eyes, as Ron laughed.

"It's okay, Harry," Ron grinned. "You're not as scarred as poor Colin who had to take all of these photos."

"Colin Creevey? Jesus Christ, Ron, he's _fucking twelve_. He's just starting to get interested in boys, because if I remember he was gay in our timeline, and now you've permanently turned him off. He's going to remain a virgin for the rest of his life, you utter twat."

"It's pretty funny, huh?" Ron grinned. "But I bet it's not as funny as Hermione's, Jim Potter's, Fred and George's, Percy's, Dumbledore's, McGonagall's, Sirius', or even Voldemort's reactions."

"You seriously sent a raunchy calendar, featuring yourself only, to the man who holds the longest grudges possible and tortures his minions for fun," Harry sighed, feeling a headache coming up. "And you sent one to McGonagall? Are you insane?"

"No, but I _was_ drunk," Ron smirked. "I also sent one to Professor Potter."

"I'm going to murder you. You have cost me my only family," Harry said darkly while Ron laughed.

"Why does it matter? She might even like it. Or her husband might," Ron shrugged.

The common room was empty, considering everyone had gone home for the winter holidays. Harry enlarged the calendar for 1994 and used a sticking charm to put it above the fireplace, in full view of everyone in the common room. It wouldn't be useful for another week, but once it did become useful, everyone would come back to school and they would witness Ronald Stark in all his glory.

"Do you have a present for me?" Ron asked excitedly.

"Yeah," Harry said. "Although, if you don't like it, you can always give it to Ginny."

"What?" Ron asked, but realized what Harry was saying as he held out a wrapped, cylindrical object about eight inches long. "Ha-ha. Very funny. You got me a sex toy, how original."

"It vibrates," Harry waggled his eyes. Ron opened the package and was confused at the fact that it was painted in military green. "Well, actually, it does a little more than vibrate. Also, I shrunk it quite significantly. I'm sure Ginny would prefer it to be its full girth."

"My sister is a whore, hilarious," Ron said blandly. "Can't you think of better jokes? Anyway, how much did you shrink it?"

"Come outside and I'll show you," Harry said, and Ron was nervous. If it was too large to fit in this common room… what the hell had Harry gotten him?

They stepped out onto the grounds where Harry lay the object on the snow-covered ground and dragged Ron back several steps… until they were a good fifty feet away. "What did you get me, Harry?" Ron squeaked as Harry pointed his superwand at the object.

"_Finite incantatem_."

The military-green dildo enlarged to about a hundred feet in length, and about ten feet in diameter. Ron gaped as the object actually sunk into the ground slightly due to its incredible weight. Harry walked up to it casually and Ron followed. This was even bigger than the basilisk Harry had fought!

"What the bloody hell?"

"It's your Christmas present," Harry smirked.

"I'm sorry mate, but I don't think even my sister can fit this… down there," Ron said nervously, as Harry cracked up.

"If it makes you feel any better, this was never designed to be a dildo," Harry laughed. "Not even a vibrator. You know how I said that this does a little more than vibrate?"

"Yeah…?"

"My friend, you are looking at a UR-100N Intercontinental Ballistic Missile." Harry grinned proudly, and whispered, "it's live."

"Merlin's saggy balls," Ron cried. "Why the hell did you get me a nuke as a Christmas present?"

"'Cause it was funny?"

"Where did you even get it?"

"Well, Sirius and I went to the newly independent state of Ukraine. It was part of the former Soviet Union so it had nukes stationed there, in case they needed to 'splode the shit out of the Westerners. They were taking it back to Russia to be destroyed. We just nicked a couple of them from the convoy while they were traveling."

"Uh," Ron said intelligently.

"I'm glad you're happy, Ron. In fact, I think Hermione might be very fascinated with this present I got you," Harry smirked. "I'll let her know how happy you are with your gift. Then she'll be really curious and start nosing around until she discovers your nuke."

"Absolutely not!" Ron said, terrified. "She'll not only report me to McGonagall and literally every intelligence agency in the world, but she'll also castrate me while she does this! I hate you, Harry. You're the worst friend ever."

"If it makes you feel better, you can threaten her with it," Harry shrugged. "Nobody would risk incinerating everyone in a ten-mile radius for the purpose of making a phone call."

"You're a prick."

"I know."

* * *

The remainder of the year was relatively quiet for both of them. Nobody was dying, no escaped murderers on the loose, no Dark Lord scheming, no ridiculous trials set for James Potter Jr., and since Ron and Harry were in detention for the remainder of the year whenever they were outside of class, mealtime, lavatory-breaks or bedtime, they couldn't really do anything.

Everyone in Gryffindor had been mentally scarred, likely for life, with more than several younger students being forced to the hospital wing due to shock, after they returned to the Gryffindor common room. Fred and George, being Fred and George, thought it was hilarious. Professors McGonagall and Potter had refused to even look at Ron ever again.

Predictably, Hermione had completely freaked out when she saw Ron taking his pet ICBM fitted with six thermonuclear warheads for a walk around the grounds. She had threatened to inform every government in the world about it, and Ron had no choice except to Obliviate her, lest he get arrested. Ron eventually decided that an entire ICBM was just too much hassle and that since he didn't have any knowledge on how to operate the rocket anyway, he'd just take the warheads and throw them at people he didn't like.

The Hufflepuff students had begun to snag half-blood students from other Houses to join their ideological revolution. They couldn't find any Muggleborns that wanted to join them, because at least the Muggleborns knew that communism was just a really, really dumb as fuck idea. Also because they didn't want to share their underwear. The half-bloods were still discriminated against, but in most cases, did not know enough about communism to know that it was doomed to fail.

After spending a month or so doing detention with Filch, the two boys warmed up to them considerably. As an early birthday present, the two boys had given him a modified M61 Vulcan minigun that shot rubber pellets which were conjured on the loop-shaped belt using advanced runes and charmed against theft, tied to Filch's magical signature. Since then, the rate of pranking against Filch especially had dropped by 90%.

Valentine's Day was a lot of fun as well. James Jr. had received dozens upon dozens of presents - flowers, cards, chocolates, even howlers that sang. Nearby, Harry and Ron hadn't done too bad either, considering that at the beginning of the school year, they were virtual nobodies. It wasn't as if they had influence or money like Malfoy, Potter, or Longbottom.

They each received a card from Hermione (and it was comforting that deep down… _very_ deep down, she still considered them friends), each of them a card from Tracey Davis (Harry's card was a little more suggestive than the one sent to Ron, who was unamused because Tracey was not bad looking _at all_), one each from Daphne which basically politely told the two of them to drop dead. Harry received one from Professor Potter, which made him very happy, but Ron most definitely did not get one from Lily Potter. They also got cards from 'Siriosa', and to Ron's horror, he received one from Ginny.

"That's a pretty good haul, huh?" Harry said, pleased, as he looked at the small pile of chocolates and gifts that lay on his bed.

"I can't believe I sent a Valentine's card to myself," Ron muttered, still somewhat out of his mind, referring to the card he received from Ginny.

"Well, what can you say? Maybe she saw something of herself in you," Harry smirked, while Ron squawked.

"Not funny," Ron growled, before looking at the other ones. "You got one from your mother, after all."

"Can you blame me for trying to get to know her?" Harry raised an eyebrow. "We're friends now. Not besties, but friendly. She's a very nice woman." He looked somber, and Ron hesitated. "Jim's one lucky bastard. I wish I could have had a mother like her."

"Maybe in a year or so," Ron tried to comfort him. "If you two get to know each other some more, and develop some trust between yourselves, you can come out with the truth to her. I mean, ever since we put our secret under the Fidelius, you could probably tell her now and be fine about it."

"I know," Harry said. "But I'm not worried about the secret spreading, because like you just said, it can't. But I'm worried how she might react. I don't want to force her to take another kid in, you know? Plus, I don't want to be Jim's brother and have paparazzi following me everywhere again."

"Yeah," Ron grimaced, then returned to his letters. "I've got a few more from a few of the more attractive girls in school. I managed to snag one from Penelope Clearwater, how brilliant is that? Percy is going to be so, so jealous."

Harry laughed. "I got one from Gemma Farley. In fact, she's going to be my Hogsmeade date today."

Ron's eyes widened. "No way. You mean _the_ Gemma Farley? Slytherin prefect? Easily one of the hottest girls in the school? Regular model for Teen Witch Weekly?" Harry nodded each time. "And she decided to go to Hogsmeade with a student that's four years younger than her?"

"I can be quite persuasive," Harry smirked, and Ron indeed saw why; Harry's charm, through both words and body language, was irresistible. It helped that he was naturally good-looking, too.

"Not fair," Ron groaned. "And next year it's going to be Fleur. This is so not fair. You used to be so terrible with women."

"And then Ginny came along," Harry agreed. "And Ginny was a complete bitch and I had to learn how to be charming just so she wouldn't drag me to some dumb-as-shit Harpies match or go shopping or turn down her requests for money so she could afford her extravagant purchases."

"Well, while I'm still jealous of you, I think I did quite well for myself, too," Ron grinned. "I'm going with Katie Bell."

"Katie? Good on you," Harry grinned back. "I remember that one time we, uh, accidentally saw her changing in the quidditch locker rooms. You have good taste. Although I'm a little disappointed that you decided not to take McGonagall."

"You know, Katie asked me the exact same thing. Here I am, impressed that you managed to find a date four years older than you, but you sincerely think I could ask a woman that's at least fifty years older than me?"

"McGonagall was quite the looker in her day, you know. There are photos for all the Head Boys and girls."

"If I really wanted McGonagall, I would've stepped through the Veil back to the bloody fifties," Ron rolled his eyes. "In fact, since you seem so interested in McGonagall, why don't _you_ ask her?"

"Because next year I'll be busy with Fleur," Harry shrugged. "The year after that, I'll be helping the twins send Umbridge to St. Mungos. The year after that, I have to make sure Draco doesn't kill the Headmaster. And after that, I'll have to beat Voldemort and - oh no! I've finished school. Never see McGonagall again."

"Prick."

Both their dates went very well. As Quidditch players, Ron and Katie got along very well and very quickly; Katie was sympathetic to Ron, who couldn't play as chaser, because she too had to sometimes be subbed out to cater for Alicia Spinnet and there was no way in hell that Oliver would put his golden Gryffindor on reserve. They had butterbeer, Ron bought her chocolates for her to share with her friends, and cuddled together, before saying goodbye and parting ways once they returned to their common room, both in high spirits.

Harry and Gemma's date went on a completely different direction. If Gemma were Muggle, then she'd be a punk chick, no doubt. So Harry apparated her out to the United States, cast aging charms on themselves, took her to a shooting range, took her on a spin with a stolen Ferrari, and went to a nightclub and got drunk and Harry got into a bar fight with three guys who were hitting on Gemma and beat the living crap out of them, then they got kicked out of the nightclub and the two of them threw up on the sidewalk, got arrested, confounded the officers into letting them go and went back to a hotel and had the best shag of their lives before they took a shower and fell asleep in the bathtub.

"Bloody hell," Gemma said the next morning. "That was the most amazing day of my life."

Harry only grinned.

After that, Harry saw less of Gemma because she had to study for her NEWTs, but they remained on good terms. Once, Harry had abducted her from her common room because she was breaking down, and the two went off to have ice cream and Gemma blew off steam again by detonating sticks of dynamite. While Ron and Katie did not pursue an actual romantic relationship, the two of them grew close as friends and often went off to practice Quidditch together.

The rest of the year was uneventful, and the two time travelers did nothing more than build strong bridges between themselves and the people who were most important in their previous lives, as well as some new entrants like Lily Potter and Gemma Farley. They were now besties with Dumbledore; Dumbledore had occasionally taken to wearing the miniskirt and fishnet stockings that Ron and Harry had jointly sent him for Christmas, to the horror of staff and students alike.

When the year ended and the two boys watched everyone reunite with their families, they felt a bit of pain in their hearts and throats. Perhaps, though, maybe quite soon, they might have families of their own like that. New people, new relationships, new choices to make.

They returned to the orphanage in high spirits.


	5. Chapter 5

Hey all!

Thanks for all the support you guys are giving me, I'm glad to know that people are enjoying this story as much as I'm enjoying writing it. This PA is just to let you know that, in the previous chapter, I wrote that Voldemort attacked the Potter family in 1980; this was a forgetful mistake on my part, I completely forgot that Harry/Jim were attacked when they were one year old. Thanks to Starway Man for pointing it out to me.

He also raised the issue of pairings, which I'm not too sure about yet. I thought it was a great idea on his part to delve a little deeper with the Ron/Katie romance, and those two certainly have my approval. I doubt Harry/Gemma will be a thing, since Gemma has now graduated, but I might keep her around as a friend of Harry's. I also don't really know about Harry/Luna combinations, because I personally believe they wouldn't harmonize that well (Harry's rather pessimistic and realistic due to his miserable childhood and of course his falling-apart adulthood, while Luna's a bit aloof and imaginative) although I plan to bring Luna closer to the new golden trio. Before you ask, Ron/Ginny will never be a thing. That's _nasty_.

Thanks again for all your love! Darien

* * *

**Chapter Five**

"So, kids," Sirius grinned, putting his hands on Harry and Ron's shoulders. "How are we going to spend the few hours before the match starts?"

The three of them had arrived to the camping grounds around the stadium nice and early, in fact an entire day before the match started. As a result, they'd snagged a place directly next to the stadium, and they were very pleased with themselves, because Sirius' tent looked like a bloody castle on the inside.

"We could start setting traps for Death Eaters," Ron suggested.

"I know a good prank," Harry said.

Sirius immediately turned to Harry. "What are you proposing?"

"Put the phrase 'The Quidditch World Cup of 1994 is being held in Britain' under the Fidelius."

"Harry, are you trying to undermine everything the British government tried to do in preparation for this thing?" Sirius asked. "That'll cause a lot of chaos, but we can't exactly point and laugh at anyone. Rejected, on the basis the prank is not funny enough. Ronald?"

"We should try and come up with traps for Death Eaters," Ron said. "After all, we know they're going to attack tonight. We need to make sure there aren't any casualties. It's a good thing that the Death Eaters aren't really expecting anyone to retaliate tonight. It's weird, innit? Ten blokes in robes and masks can scare thousands of people."

"It is a little strange, yes," Sirius admitted. "Anyway, Ron, what do you propose?"

"We should design an Incapacitator Ward," Ron said. "Anyone with malicious intent will be frozen in space and time and unable to do magic. We'll activate it as soon as the match ends, and that way, the Death Eaters will walk right into it."

"If that's the case, we should let this tent be an evacuation point as well," Harry suggested. "I bet you could fit several hundred people in here, Sirius. I'm sure the Incapacitator will work, but people want to feel safe and they will once they're in the tent. It also helps that they'll stop running if a Death Eater shows up and fights, because there's only one entrance to the tent."

"Alright," Sirius agreed. "It's a good thing that this tent is just about everything-proof. My ancestors were a bit paranoid, if you remember what Grimmauld Place is like. I'm pretty sure this tent has a bat-ward on it. Not just vampire-wards, but also bat-wards."

"Good for repelling Snape, then," Ron smirked.

"Anyway, is this ward from the future? Because I haven't heard of it," Sirius said, and the two boys nodded.

Using Sirius' tent as the center-point, the boys began forming the ward. They were hoping to form it large enough to cover most of the tenting ground though honestly, there was a lot of area to cover. Even recruiting Sirius' help, the three of them might have only managed to cover about half the area that was required.

"Does it really matter?" Ron asked. "We've covered the region where Death Eaters attacked last time, next to that forest over there. They tried to ambush them in the woods, if I remember correctly, so this area should be spot on."

Since the process took until noon, it drained them quite significantly and the three of them ended up eating a large lunch and taking a nap. They woke up around four, and went around greeting people they knew. Sirius was asked to be cordial to the people he didn't particularly like (a lot of people who had pronounced him guilty at the first chance they got).

They met Oliver Wood, who proudly announced that he was now playing keeper for Puddlemere United, and received the three's respect and congratulations. They also met the Diggory bunch, as well as the Bell family; Katie's mother and Sirius looked amused as Katie tackled Ron into a hug and planted a kiss on his cheek.

"We got seats at the Top Box," Ron grinned. "Or, Sirius did, anyway. As part of his reparation from the Ministry. Wanna come?"

"I'd love to, but this is a family outing, so not this time," Katie smiled. "Thanks for offering, though. Maybe I'll see you after the match."

They parted ways and Sirius grinned at Ron. "Is there something between the two of you?"

"Yeah," Ron grinned sheepishly. It was weird for the two of them; while never married, Ron had always been quite the charmer, often able to sneak women into his bed for one-night stands, whether they be magical or mundane. However, now that they were stuck in their teenage bodies, Ron and Harry had to deal with hormones all over again. "Yeah, since Valentine's. We thought our first date went pretty well so we decided to give it a shot."

"And it's going strong?" Ron nodded. "That's good to hear, Ron. She seemed like a very nice girl and I'm glad you can find happiness without the aid of booze or the suffering of others."

They then met the magnificent ocean of fire, the Weasley clan. It appeared that in this timeline, everyone had joined, including Bill and Charlie and Percy and even Molly. This gave them a chance to greet Bill, a powerful wizard and a wardbreaker whose skills might be desired in the future. Ron had to hold back his tears as he introduced himself to his former brothers. Harry felt a little sorry for him, so he and Sirius went off on their own, leaving Ron to befriend his siblings for a bit, telling him to return to the tent whenever he wanted.

"Won't you look at that," Sirius smiled softly. After another ten minutes of wandering, they found James Potter Jr. and his namesake putting up a tent together. Both of them were ridiculously uncoordinated and Lily was shaking her head.

"Professor!" Harry called, resisting the urge to call her 'mum'. Lily Potter turned and smiled a bright smile as she found her favorite student from her Muggle Studies class. "It's good to see you!"

The two Jameses looked a little suspicious as Lily enthusiastically returned Harry's wild embrace. However, that disappeared when Harry turned to the two of them, greeted the senior with a firm handshake and a respectful greeting, the junior with a man-hug, and said hi to Iris, the daughter.

"And who are you?" Harry cooed towards another young Potter girl, probably aged around seven or eight. The girl grinned, revealing several gaps in between her teeth.

"I'm Ivy!" She proclaimed.

"Hello, Ivy, I'm Harry," Harry grinned back, and kissed her knuckles, making her giggle. "Are you excited to be here, Ivy?"

"Nah," she said bluntly and Harry stifled a laugh as her older brother and her father glared at her from behind. "I would rather draw or read. I don't like Quidditch!" Lily smiled and picked her daughter up.

Meanwhile, Sirius had attracted the attention of the senior James Potter. The Head Auror awkwardly shuffled to Sirius' side. "Uh," he said. "Hey, Padfoot. How… how are you doing? After your release?"

"Hey, Prongs," Sirius grinned, and James relaxed a bit. "I'm doing well, thanks for asking. It turns out I'm related to those brats somehow. They were the ones who captured Pettigrew, you know that? Since I got pardoned, they've been good pranking partners and drinking buddies-"

"Drinking buddies?" James burst out incredulously. "Padfoot, they're kids!"

"Technically," Sirius shrugged. "It's their choice. They were alcoholics before I persuaded them to drink less."

"Well…" James looked at his wife awkwardly. "If Lily finds out, she'll neuter you, you know that right?"

Sirius winced.

"So, Professor," Harry said. "Who are you rooting for today?"

"I'm not on anyone's side, Harry," Lily smiled. "Partly because I don't even know who's playing."

James, Jim, Iris, Harry, and Sirius all gasped with such synchrony that Lily began to laugh. "You can't be serious, Lily!" James cried. Sirius followed with, "yeah, because I am," and cracked up all by his lonesome because nobody else found it funny after the quadrillionth time.

"I don't know," Lily chuckled. "Anyway, don't you boys have better things to do? Like get the tent up?" She glared, and appropriately chastised, James and Junior went back to the tent. "It's good seeing you, Harry," she smiled, and embraced him yet again, a much gentler, motherly hug this time, and Harry began to tear up. "I'll see you when school starts."

"Yes, mum," Harry croaked, and realized his mistake. Lily only laughed, though, and let it go. Sirius smiled forlornly as he threw his arm around teenage Harry's shoulder and guided him back towards their tent.

"You okay, Harry?" He asked.

"Never been better," Harry said honestly, and Sirius smiled.

They returned to the tent to find Ron, who had also apparently found the stay with his family enjoyable to say the least. 'Accidentally' letting slip that he was an orphan made Molly's mothering instincts crank up to eleven, and thus Ron had been adopted into his old family again. While Harry and Ron had not gotten along with Molly Weasley later in their lives, nobody could truly hate their mother, especially one who tried to hard to make her many children as happy as they could be.

For the next hour or so until they would go to the stadium, they played a few card games; the two boys taught Sirius to play Texas Hold'em, since surprisingly, despite Las Vegas being Sirius' most favorite place in the world, he didn't know how to play. When Sirius finally got the idea of poker, they packed the cards away and went toward the stadium for the game.

The three of them wondered why in Merlin's name the building did not contain elevators. Harry counted two-hundred something steps to the Top Box, and Sirius and Ron were also equally ragged. While the boys exercised every morning to keep in shape, they weren't planning on such an exhausting climb. Indeed, the Weasleys were all red-faced when they reached their allocated seats.

"There's Barty Crouch Junior," Ron nudged Harry, pointing at an empty seat next to a lone house-elf.

"Yeah," Harry agreed.

The match went mostly the same as last time. The Bulgarian Veela tried to make men commit suicide by jumping off their allocated spaces onto the pitch, the Irish leprechauns taunted the Veela who tried to incinerate the flying creatures. While the Irish seeker wasn't the best, the rest of the team was powerful and scored mercilessly; eventually to save his country from excessive humiliation, Krum caught the snitch and ended the match early.

As people began to file out to leave, Ron and Harry jumped out of their seats and fired stunners at Winky and the seat next to the one she was sitting in. Head Auror James Potter, who had been with his family in the Top Box, lost all familiarity with the three of them and _expelliarmus_ed both Ron and Harry.

"What do you think you're doing?" He demanded, but paused when Harry lifted the invisibility cloak to produce a supposedly long-dead face. "Impossible," he whispered under his breath.

"I think he stole someone's wand, probably a Weasley," Harry said, handing the wand in Crouch's hand to the Head Auror, who asked no questions before immobilizing Crouch with magic-restraining cuffs. "They might already be… yeah, I think they're gone. Can you give it back to them at your convenience?"

"Of course," James said, still stunned. "How did you know…?" He gestured at the unconscious man.

"I saw him nick the wand," Harry lied. "So I told Ron and we agreed that someone was there, either disillusioned or under a cloak. We stunned them once we had a chance."

"Right," James nodded, and gave Harry back his wand, and Ron's. "In that case, I commend you, boys. Well done, and I'm sorry for disarming you earlier. I'm very pleased with your actions. Have you ever thought about joining the Auror force?"

"I got fired from the Auror force," Ron shrugged, earning a confused look.

"We'd rather be Unspeakable Field Operatives," Harry continued.

"What are those?"

Ron grinned. "If you knew what they were, there wouldn't be much point of them existing, would there?"

They returned to the tent-maze, and continued playing poker. They heard zero screams throughout the night. That made sense; since Voldemort wasn't active yet, only Barty Crouch could have used his Dark Mark to summon the other Death Eaters. Since Crouch had been apprehended, there was nobody here who would summon them.

Barty Crouch Senior had taken another big hit to his reputation, and was fined heavily for what he did; thankfully he was rich enough to manage to avoid prison himself. Crouch Junior was given the Kiss. James Potter, in his subsequent interview, gave all the credit to Harry and Ronald Stark, leading to them becoming temporary celebrities, and the Oracle giving an in-depth report on the mysterious duo's first year at Hogwarts last year, including the fact that Ronald had a crush on McGonagall and that they had recovered all the Founders' relics and most importantly, Harry had mooned the whole school.

"My hero," Katie said the next morning, and Ron was giddy the whole day after Katie gave him a proper kiss on the lips.

* * *

"Bloody hell," said the newest addition to Lucius Malfoy's Guilty Pleasure Orphanage for Bland, Non-Magical Children (perhaps it was insulting to some, but hey, at least it provided a place for urchins on the street… right?), grinning wide. "You really do have Dumbledore wrapped around your pinky, don't you?"

"That we do, Sirius. That we do," Ron smirked, and put down Sirius' Hogwarts acceptance letter.

Sister Margaret, the nun who was in charge of running the orphanage, had given permission for a kid who looked suspiciously like the recently pardoned Sirius Black to stay with the two boys, who claimed to know him. Now, the room was even messier, with pornographic magazines and empty bottles of booze hidden under the beds and the clothes wrinkly because Sirius never bothered to fold the laundry even though it was his assigned chore.

They had gone and took him shopping at Diagon Alley for his fourth year. Sirius pouted for a whole afternoon when he realized he couldn't a superwand like the other two, so Ron suggested he nick the Elder Superwand from Harry while still sleeping (thereby gaining mastery over the wand). Harry was upset when it was stolen, but this only helped to cement Sirius' authority over the wand, and Harry forgave him quickly anyway when Ron explained what was going on.

"I am the Master of Death!" Sirius cackled.

"Unfortunately not," Harry remarked. "If you also somehow manage to steal my ring," he waggled his fingers, with the Gaunt ring on his index finger, "and Jim Potter's invisibility cloak because I'm definitely not giving you mine, then you might become the _second_ Master of Death."

"You're a Master of Death?" Sirius asked curiously. "What kind of powers did you get?"

"The ability to keep a straight face while Ginny yelled at me for one thing or another," Harry shrugged, and the other two smirked. "That power wasn't strong enough to be effective against Molly Weasley, though."

Sirius shuddered. "I never thought so. At least Ginevra is half-Arthur."

Sirius was, by all definitions, a kid. In his adult form, Sirius had named himself (Sirius Jr.) as his own heir. Nobody could prove otherwise because Sirius was not using a glamour to conceal himself or using some sort of experimental de-aging potion. No, Sirius had, in fact, found himself a new Animagus form of… himself. Except he was fifteen years younger.

"Hey, Sirius?" Harry had asked one night.

"Yeah, Harry?"

"Do you hate James and Lily for sending you to prison?"

"No, I'm not, actually. Why would I be?" Sirius shrugged. "They were memory charmed by the most powerful wizard in modern history and a known practitioner of Legilimency. I doubt I would have been able to resist something like that. So no, I don't hate them, but after twelve years in prison thinking they did betray me, I don't think I would be able to greet them the same."

"Especially since you're not _the_ Sirius Black," Harry said.

"Yeah," Sirius agreed. "I'm just _a_ Sirius Black."

"Who happens to be the bastard child of _the_ Sirius Black and… who was it again?"

"Narcissa Black."

"Oh God. You screwed your first cousin?" Ron gagged.

"Ron, have you _seen_ her? She's a bloody supermodel at age thirty-nine, you should have seen her when she was in her early twenties. What is a man supposed to do, even if they are first cousins, when a sexually frustrated young woman who just happens to be extremely attractive comes up to you and asks for sex because her husband is uninterested in it since he only reproduces asexually anyway-"

"Wait, what?" Harry asked.

"So yes, I did have sexual relations with that woman," Sirius said firmly. "And I did not regret it."

"Would you do the same with Bellatrix?" Harry asked idly.

"Would you?" Sirius snorted. "She doesn't know anything about the birds and bees and neither does she care. Her idea of a romantic relationship is having someone to _Crucio_ whenever she wants, just like Voldemort himself."

"I feel like I've learned a lot of things tonight which I think I didn't need to know," Ron commented.

Sirius shrugged. "It's a nice ice-breaker if anything."

"Sirius, that is _not_ a good ice-breaker," Harry said. "Do you usually point out the fact that you're some rich hillbilly whose entire family is known for being incestual and that you've actually screwed your first cousin when you introduce yourself to a girl at a bar?"

"No, no, I meant about how Malfoys clone each other."

"Oh, right. We've actually used that one, you know."

"Oh, really? How did you know? It's a really tightly kept secret."

"...it was just a good guess, Sirius." Harry brightened. "Well, at least now literally everyone at Hogwarts knows about how Malfoys reproduce." Sirius barked in laughter.

"Excited to go to Hogwarts tomorrow, Sirius?" Ron asked.

"Hell yeah, Ronald. The Marauders are back and shit's going to go down," Sirius grinned. "You two are honorary Marauders, right? Do you guys have Animagus forms?" The two nodded. "Come on, dudes. Tell me."

"Guess," Harry smirked.

"You will never guess Harry's form," Ron said seriously. "His Marauder name is _Monarch_, if that helps at all. My Marauder name, on the other hand, is _Greytail_. Because I'm a grey mongoose, see. Like my Patronus."

"I have no clue about either of you," Sirius admitted. "Monarch? Maybe an eagle, the King of Birds? A lion, the king of the jungle? No?" Harry shook his head. "Well, I don't know. And why are you a mongoose, Ron? That was a little unexpected."

"Because he hates snakes," Harry supplied helpfully.

"...that's it?"

"Yeah," Ron said sheepishly, but brightened. "But that does mean I'm immune to snake venom in my human form, too!"

The next morning, they all said goodbye to the lovely Sister Margaret, who wished them the best of luck at their 'demonic occult boarding school' as Harry had put it, whose smile didn't falter even though Harry tried to convince her that they committed acts of sodomy every night instead of prayers before bedtime and worshipped Satan every other Wednesday.

Sirius was enjoying the trip to Kings Cross, doing a very good job of annoying everyone they walked past. Once, when they were in an elevator with other people on the commute, he loudly proclaimed what a relief it was to pass some gas that had been stuck in his colon for ages - and the people slowly shuffled away from him. Ron couldn't hold in his sniggers.

They came to the barrier between platforms nine and ten, finally, after Ron had to drag a whining Sirius away from a vending machine selling soft drinks. While Ron was doing so, Harry cast a spell on the barrier and smirked, before turning to his friend and his dogfather. "Hey, guys, I think we're at the wrong place."

"What? No, we're not," Ron replied, confused.

"Really? Because I'm pretty sure we have to get to Platform _Eight_ and Three Quarters," Harry shrugged casually.

As if to back his words up, Ginny Weasley walked quickly at the barrier only for the trolley to crash and send Ginny toppling into the trolley headfirst. Sirius and Ron gaped, before they started sniggering. Molly Weasley began poring over her daughter, making sure she was okay, making sure she wasn't hurt, et cetera.

"Eight and Three Quarters, right," Sirius smirked as the trio made their way to the next pillar over. Harry walked straight through, to the shock of all the plainclothed Obliviators, and the other two men-turned-into-boys followed. "What did you do to the barrier, Monarch?"

"Just a simple switching spell," Harry laughed. "I did overpower it, though. All the notice-me-not wards around it were a little stubborn."

"Did you see the look on Ginny's face?" Ron grinned. "No doubt wondering what Dobby had done this time…"

"Ronald!" A somewhat familiar voice called, and all three of them turned around to find an athletic-looking brunette approaching them. She grinned as she threw her arm around Ron, who grinned back and returned her hug.

"Hey, Katie," Ron smiled.

"Harry," Katie nodded to him, smiling, and then turned onto the unknown. "Who's your friend?"

"Ah, this is the newest addition to our club," Ron neglected to mention the official requirements of this particular club, which was 'to be a lot older than you are pretending to be', "Sirius Black. He's a cool guy."

"Sirius Black?" Katie stared hard at him. She must have been staring at Sirius for a full minute, but Merlin, the man had an iron will! His cheeky grin did not falter once the entire time and Ron was pretty sure he didn't even blink. "Like the murderer Sirius Black?"

"Proclaimed innocent," Sirius growled, his smile gone.

"Of course," Katie said apologetically. "Sorry, force of habit. But you're a bit too young to be Sirius Black, aren't you? Because I met Sirius Black at the World Cup."

"I'm too young to be _the_ Sirius Black," Sirius agreed. "But I'm only _a_ Sirius Black."

"Right," Katie said awkwardly. "Would you happen to be _the_ Sirius Black's kid, then?"

"I dunno, sis. I was born in a barn somewhere in Jordan, I can't really remember, because there was a hotel next door but my mum and Sirius Black looked like beggars so they weren't allowed in. Sirius always claimed he never had sex with mum, so we don't really know who my dad is."

Muggle-raised Katie stared at him. "You're Jesus?"

"Who's that?"

"Why don't we board the train for now?" Harry interrupted quickly. "After all, if we don't, we won't be able to get a compartment for ourselves, right?" He laughed hysterically. "Let's go, gang!"

Ron decided he would carry Katie's belongings and waddled after the three others. Since Sirius kept going on about his weird parentage, many of the compartments were already full, and the only one they could find that would fit all three of them, was a compartment occupied by a single blonde girl who was reading a magazine upside-down.

"Hello," Katie said politely. "Is it okay if we sit with you?"

The girl peeked over her magazine and nodded. The four of them sat; Katie opposite the blonde girl, by the window, and Ron was sandwiched between her and Sirius. Harry sat down next to the unknown (or at least, known but pretending not to know) blonde. Katie and Sirius openly stared at her upside-down magazine, butterbeer-cork necklace, and her radish earrings.

"Are you Luna Lovegood?" Harry asked as the train began to move.

"I am," Luna replied, not looking up. "How did you know?"

"Because only the daughter of Xeno Lovegood would be smart enough to find the clues in the Quibbler," Harry said, and Luna actually looked up at him now, beaming. "Well done. I only found that method a week or so ago. I think."

"Thank you," she said with genuine affection. "You're Harry Stark. And Ronald Stark. And Katie Bell. And Sirius Black."

"I'm only _a_ Sirius Black," Sirius insisted.

"Of course," Luna nodded seriously. "Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too," Sirius grinned, while Ron smiled in recognition of his old friend and Katie smiled because the girl was just too darn cute.

"So, all of you," Harry grinned, pulling from his backpack what appeared to be a cigar. "Want to try something fun?"

"My mother would murder me if I tried smoking," Katie said firmly.

"It's not tobacco," Harry smirked as the tip of his holly superwand lit the blunt. "Only losers smoke cigarettes. This stuff is for cool kids like you and me."

* * *

"Fuuuck," Sirius moaned. "Who the hell put their stupid pet toad on the ground? I nearly stepped on it."

Ron laughed loudly as he tried to help Sirius stand up, but he was a little too relaxed and fell onto him instead. "There was no toad, Sisirus," Ron giggled. "You must just be hallucinating. Dementors catch you again?"

"Go die," Sirius mumbled as he fell asleep.

Now that the Hogwarts Express had finally reached its destination, the five brain-addled kids were causing a lot of trouble for all the others who were still trying to make their way to the school. Sirius promptly fell asleep underneath Ron and began to snore. Katie was holding hands with Luna and were stumbling towards them.

"Katie?" Luna said seriously. "How do we know what we see is real, if our eyes aren't real?"

Katie stared at Luna for a very long time. "...oh, my God. That's incredible. I don't know, babe."

"It's simple," Harry slurred. "We're all just a figment of Luna's imagination. One day Luna will wake up from her dream and we will all disappear."

"But I don't want to disappear!" Katie said and began to cry on Luna's shoulder.

"Miss Bell," a voice said.

"Huh?"

"Miss Bell, are you drunk?" McGonagall snapped. "Have you been crying? Your eyes are all red. In fact, all of your eyes are red."

"When's the feast?" Ron asked. "I'm hungry."

"You're always hungry, Ron," Harry smirked.

"Every single one of you, get to the castle right now," McGonagall snapped. "Go to your dorms. I expect all of your to be sober… or clean of whatever substance you clearly enjoyed, by the time the feast begins."

They needed further angry prompting to leave, especially because Sirius wouldn't wake up until McGonagall yelled at him. They had to half-carry, half-drag him to the Gryffindor common room because of that, before they realized that Sirius hadn't even been sorted. Sirius shrugged and said that he was pretty much guaranteed for the Griffs, so they allowed him in.

"Oh, my God," Sirius yelped as they emerged from the portrait hole. "What the bloody hell is that?"

"You should know," Ron smirked. The September picture was that of Ron, emerging from a pool, his voluptuous figure dripping with water. If it were a woman being featured, it would have been amazing, considering how good the detail was, the black and white, the lighting. But it wasn't… it was Ron.

The four of them were made to take sobering potions while McGonagall watched angrily. While none of them were drunk, the disgusting concoctions worked, and they regained a measure of their sanity. When they met up with Luna again, none of them were sure if the sobering potion had worked or not. She was weird.

"Blubbering humdingers…?" Sirius was muttering to himself as he separated from the rest of their group, to join the firsties who were going to be sorted.

Katie, Ron and Harry joined Angelina, Alicia, Fred and George on the Gryffindor table. They had a few minutes for everyone to congratulate Harry and Ron on stopping an escaped Death Eater ("wasn't that hard, really," Ron shrugged. "I don't think he realized how big his booty was, because he failed to cover it with his invisibility cloak.") before they were silenced by McGonagall.

More kids got sorted into the four Houses. Harry and Ron fell asleep while Hermione dutifully clapped for every kid that got sorted. Eventually, Katie yawned and also began to sleep. About thirty minutes later, they were snapped awake as McGonagall called Sirius' name.

"Black, Sirius…?" McGonagall sort of trailed off as teenage Sirius grinned and walked up to her, snatching the Sorting Hat out of her hands and sitting on the stool. The Hat didn't need long to call out, "GRYFFINDOR!" Harry, Ron, Katie and the twins cheered loudly while Hermione watched on in suspicion. Anyone that Harry, Ron, and the twins all approved of, was definitely not good news.

Sirius handed the hat back to McGonagall and grinned at the school. "Hey, folks!" He said cheerfully. "I'm Sirius Black. Just so you know, I'm _a_ Sirius Black, not _the_ Sirius Black. I'm the bastard child of _the_ Sirius Black and Narcissa Malfoy because Cissy was sexually frustrated because the entire Malfoy line reproduces via cloning…"

"That's enough," McGonagall said firmly, as the students sniggered, guiding Sirius towards the Gryffindor table. When that was done, she sighed loudly, wondering why she had to suffer through another Sirius Black… for four years. Perhaps it was time for retirement.

"Good job getting into Gryffindor, Sirius," Katie grinned. "These are the Weasley twins, Fred and George, and no, I don't know which is which, but I think you'll like them."

"I think I would," Sirius agreed. "Especially since my dad is Padfoot."

"Padfoot?" The twins gaped.

"Yeah, something wrong with that?" Sirius asked snootily, and the twins shook their heads simultaneously. "I'm surprised you know them, though. Maybe you have the Marauder's Map? Yeah, I thought so," Sirius grinned as Fred and George were convinced that this was Padfoot's kid.

"Maybe you two should learn to become an Animagus," Harry suggested as Dumbledore rattled off about the Triwizard Tournament and such. Although Harry had no intention of making it just a _Tri_wizard tournament.

"That's a brilliant idea!" Fred, or George, said.

"Do you have any recommended reading?" George, or Fred, said.

"Yeah, I do, actually," Sirius mused, rubbing his chin. "I'm pretty sure there's this book in the library…"

The doors smashed open and a man limped into the Great Hall. George and Fred stopped speaking immediately, as did Dumbledore. The entire school watched as the man with the whizzing fake eye and peg-leg limped toward the staff table. Suddenly, the man whipped around and cast a powerful _Protego _as three stunners crashed into them.

"Hah!" Moody barked in laughter. "I like you brats! CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" He roared, making the nearby Slytherins and Ravenclaws jump in terror. "What are your names, brats?"

Harry, Ron and Sirius grinned at each other before identifying themselves. Moody's eye lingered on Sirius for a little longer than the other two, but even Moody's eye couldn't see through Animagus forms. "Sirius Black and Narcissa Malfoy's kid, my nut," he grunted. "You're just a clone of Black, much like that Malfoy over there is his father's."

Draco turned red as everyone stared at him.

Dumbledore finished his little speech, and everyone returned to their dorms. Sirius, Harry, Ron and Katie went up to their room, where Ron and Katie promptly closed the curtains surrounding their beds and decided to have a snogging session. Sirius watched the curtains close, a little jealous, before Harry cleared his throat.

"Yeah?" Sirius asked.

"Look, Sirius," Harry said. "All three of us are grown men, either in their thirties or in their fifties, mentally. I cannot stress to you enough that we _do not_ take advantage of girls who are still in school. Ron and I made an exception to Katie and Gemma because they were already of the age of consent when we, you know, went on dates with them. I will not be forgiving, even if you are my godfather, if you try to have some fun with any girl under the age of fifteen. The older the better, really. In fact, Ron and I are aiming for McGonagall."

"McGonagall?" Sirius said, shocked. "You have your sights set high, don't you?"

"Sirius, she's a widow. She needs some love in her life. Do you realize how much she drinks?" Harry laughed. "We don't plan on ditching her, you know. We can relate, cause at least according to our memories, we're old men. We just want to make her a little happy, her and Hagrid."

"Hagrid will get his chance, though," Sirius smirked. "He's gonna meet Madame Maxime this year."

Harry snapped his fingers. "That's right! We have to give him a makeover and teach him how to dress and behave. Hagrid's a wonderful soul, but he is not refined like Olympe Maxime."

"Another thing on our to-do list, then," Sirius grinned. "Can you dance, Harry?"

"Can I dance? Are you seriously asking me that? The three-time finalist of the British Swing Dance-off?" Harry laughed. "I'll be fine, probably. I might need to get in a little practice sometime, but mostly fine."

"Swing?" Sirius grinned. "Who was your partner?"

"Sometimes Ron, sometimes Dobby," Harry shrugged. "Ginny wasn't into that sort of thing, and she'd get mighty jealous if I danced with a woman. However, I did meet this American lady called Allison, about my age who was studying medicine at Oxford, who was _insanely_ good."

"You and Ronald _have_ to dance," Sirius smiled. "I'm looking forward to it."

"Honestly? I'm looking forward to it, too," Harry grinned. "So much excitement this year…"


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter****Six**

"You darn brat! No magic in the corridors! Didn't Dumbledore tell you enough times? Back in my day, you'd be hung from the walls by your thumbs!"

Sirius gasped and dived into a side-corridor as rubber bullets screamed past him where he was a moment ago. He could hear footsteps as soon as the buzzsaw-like noise from the minigun stopped. Seriously… who decided to give the caretaker a minigun? Sirius wanted to cry. His entire back was probably covered in bruises and welts.

Sirius genuinely thought that, as a Marauder, he'd practically own the place. But no. He'd been woefully underprepared for the amount of craziness going on at Hogwarts right now. Firstly, he'd tried to prank Draco Malfoy and his Slytherin goons, but the Slytherins were now ridiculously jumpy at anything that was wearing red, it was a lot worse than when _he_ and the _Marauders_ were at school! As a result he'd been surprised to see maybe two dozen different spells flying at him; he'd managed a _Protego Maxima_ just in time and he'd run for it.

Of course, he was then confronted by a group of Hufflepuffs who already didn't like him because he was part of the bourgeoisie. They demanded that he relinquish his wealth to more noble causes like, say, donating to St. Mungos, purchasing clean water for children in less privileged countries, or financing infrastructure projects. Those Hufflepuffs had been even more terrifying than the Slytherins. Sirius had screamed like a girl, shook off his pursuers using several stunners, and that was when Filch found him using magic in the corridors.

At first he'd taken a moment to ponder what prank he should pull on one of his favorite targets. That had been a massive mistake, because Filch had pointed some weird Muggle contraption at him. A vacuum cleaner, perhaps? Sirius snickered, then he was pelted by a hundred bullets per second. It was incredibly painful, and while Sirius did not know it, the muzzle velocity had been significantly lowered when modified by Harry and Ron. Sirius ran harder than he ever ran, yet again, but Filch had pursued him.

"Oh, Merlin," Sirius whimpered. "I need help."

Filch cackled as he rounded the corner and pointed the barrel of the minigun at Sirius. Sirius watched in terror as Filch's finger inched toward the trigger, then… a powerfully-built man dressed in black body armor and a black cape appeared behind Filch and knocked him out with a powerful chop to the neck. Filch collapsed onto the floor, on top of his minigun, and when Mrs. Norris yowled loudly, the caped crusader stunned her.

"Thank Merlin," Sirius gasped, and approached the man. "Thanks for helping me. Who are you?"

The man, who turned out to be wearing some sort of pointy-eared superhero mask, glared at Sirius. "I'm Batman," he said in a gruff voice that suspiciously sounded like Snape with a cold, before he disapparated with a loud _crack_ and a puff of black smoke. Sirius stared in stunned disbelief - wasn't it supposed to be impossible to apparate within Hogwarts grounds?

Sirius decided to forget about it and hurried outside. Today, the foreign schools would be arriving at Hogwarts, any minute now. They were scheduled to arrive before the feast, after all, and right now the sun was setting. He dodged students in his way and went outside, catching a glimpse of Ron and Katie holding hands by the lake, with Harry and Luna sitting beside them. Jim Potter, Ginny, and Hermione were also with them, a little further away but close enough to be in the same group.

"Made it," Sirius grinned at Harry and Luna, sitting on the grass beside them. His nostrils were assaulted by a pungent smell; Luna was smoking pot again. She smiled dreamily at him. Apparently after she'd been introduced to Jim Potter, she'd met Neville Longbottom, whom she convinced (i.e. strong-armed) to grow cannabis for her.

"Hey, Sirius," Harry said. "If what Twinkledore - I mean, if what Dumbledore said was correct, the schools will be arriving in about half an hour. At which point, they'll show off their little tricks because they don't have any friends here and they're desperate."

"That's not exactly fair, is it?" Sirius said. "If the foreign schools get to put on a little show, why don't we?"

"Because we're literally the most boring magical school in Europe?" Harry said.

"Because the Ministry is incompetent and won't allow the school enough funding in pursuit of their anti-intellectual drive, since only a base made up of idiots would vote for them," Luna answered in a surprising moment of clarity. It was worrying that she was less crazy when stoned than when she wasn't.

"Didn't you say there was a spell to make all of Hogwarts' suits of armor and statues come to life?" Sirius asked. "You could use that, form an honor guard or something."

"We haven't found it yet," Harry said. "You actually only just reminded me of that one, I'd forgotten about it. No, I think we should form a group of diplomats to meet the foreign schools, except we all wear the flashiest Dumbledore robes we can get our hands on."

"Oh, Merlin," Sirius sighed.

"Can you go tell Dumbledore that, Sirius?" Harry asked.

"No," Sirius ssid firmly. Harry stood up, dusting off his trousers and his robes, stretched, before picking up a smooth, flat stone. He leaned down and pitched; the stone skipped across the calm lake seven times.

"That was pretty good," Harry said to himself, and Sirius nodded.

"Excited for the foreign schools, Jimmy?" Sirius asked Potter Junior.

"Depends," Jim shrugged. "On whether they'll room with us or not. Hopefully they bring their own accomodation…"

"That's not a healthy competitive spirit," Hermione said. "Why don't you want them?"

"Because I need my personal space, thanks very much. Plus, a large portion of Beauxbatons girls are partial Veela. Who knows what kind of havoc they might wreak upon the male student populace?"

Sirius recalled Harry's words from the first time they met. '_He's a _goody-two-shoes_! His mother has corrupted him!...'_ Even with that warning, Sirius was surprised. What boy wouldn't be happy that part-Veela girls might possibly sleep in their school? Sirius had it all planned out. He would make friends with these Veela, and since they were likely pureblooded, they wouldn't know what a movie was… he'd organize a movie night, maybe have a little fun…

"And Durmstrang?" Hermione asked. "They're an all-boys school, you know. Is something wrong with them?"

"They're dark!" Jim complained. "I trust the Slytherins as far as I can throw Hagrid, and I'm definitely not going to trust the Durmstrang students. They pride themselves in their proficiency in the Dark Arts!"

Yeah, definitely corrupted.

But it was weird. Was it really his mother that corrupted him? Because when it came to her temper and her magic, Lily was always the more ferocious of the two. While Prongs was a prankster, he never delved into anything that could be described as dark. On the other hand, Lily was always curious, always interested… researching blood magic and the like.

While Ginny and Hermione bickered about the Durmstrang boys (Ginny naturally took Jim's side - a Weasley was not a Weasley unless they hated all things dark and green) Dumbledore approached them. This time, he was wearing a white robe decorated with scoops of ice cream, as well as a pointed wizard's hat that looked suspiciously like a waffle cone.

"Good afternoon, children," Dumbledore smiled. "Waiting for the other schools, are we? At the rate the sun is going down, I expect they will be here in a quarter of an hour."

More students were trickling in now to witness the entrance of these mysterious schools. They were, however, made to move away from a small pier next to the lake, as well as leaving a wide open space in the field. How did those schools plan to come here? By some sort of portkey?

The answer soon arrived, and they were not nearly as undignified.

First, a giant three-masted ship pierced the tranquil surface of the water, and with a massive groan and the crashing of falling water, a ship rose from the musky depths of the lake. The students watched, mesmerized, as the torn sails fluttered weakly. It looked like a ghost ship.

Second, a giant carriage pulled by a large number of winged horses circled through the sky. As the beasts, much larger than conventional horses, landed, the students gasped at their breathtaking beauty; thoroughly polished burgundy or caramel coats, and wings that gleamed white.

The ship lowered a gangplank to allow a pot-bellied man with a goatee to disembark, and fur-clad students followed. From the carriage, a large woman, almost as large as Hagrid, emerged, and from behind her, a collection of students dressed in blue silk. It was strange to realize that both visitors would be experiencing their first co-ed stay during the entirety of their school years.

"Veela girls," Sirius murmured as his eyes ran across some of the girls who were, either intentionally or unintentionally, leaking some of their allure.

"Correct, Sirius. But like we agreed, _don't be a pedophile_." Harry stared at him seriously. "By the way, there's Fleur. She's mine, so unless I fail, keep your paws off." He gestured to a jaw-droppingly gorgeous young woman with golden hair so fair it was almost silver.

"A girl like her must have plenty of guys approaching them," Sirius commented. "I doubt you'd make much of a difference."

"Ah, but I'm different," Harry said. "I'm resistant to the allure and I am capable of telling her my name without stuttering or turning into a drooling wreck."

"Welcome, welcome!" Dumbledore beamed at the headmasters of the two foreign schools. "Igor, Olympe," he smiled, and the former grimaced in an imitation of a smile while the latter looked quite indifferent. "Welcome to you, and all your students. Allow me to show you to the Great Hall, where we will feast."

The Slavs and Toads followed the garishly dressed old man into the castle, with many students still holding their attention to the ship, or the winged horses. However, Ginny was very excited indeed, fangirling over Viktor Krum.

"Did you see him?" Ginny squealed (Ron cringed; was he like this as a teenager?). "You reckon he'll give me his autograph? You reckon he'd play Quidditch with me?"

"Give him some space, Ginny," Hermione said tiredly.

The students began to return to the Hall, as Hagrid took care of the winged beasts. The Durmstrang students sat with the Slytherins. It was the obvious choice for an academy with an affinity toward what was considered 'dark' magic. The Beauxbatons had decided to sit with the Ravenclaws.

The feast was enhanced by the fact that the house-elves had whipped up dishes from the other countries; while neither Harry nor Ron particularly cared for French food, Hermione certainly did and she seemed excited for that.

"So," Sirius leaned in towards the boys. "Have you got your own plans for getting your names into the cup?"

"I've got a few theories," Harry said, while Ron, whose mouth was full of food, nodded. After forty-something years that he was alive, he'd finally taken the hint that maybe he shouldn't speak while he ate or chew with his mouth open.

"Because I can just cross the line in my real form and be done with it," Sirius smirked.

"I think we could too, if we wanted," Ron said. "The age-line basically measures the maturity of your magic rather than the age of your physical body, right?"

"The twins took aging potions the first time around, and those failed, so that seems the more likely explanation," Harry agreed.

"So none of us actually need a plan?" Sirius asked.

"We'll see, Sirius."

* * *

One week later, the Goblet of Fire stood at the head of the Hall. All eyes, both from students and from staff, were fixated on the lazy orange flames. In the silence, the soft crackling of the fire echoed throughout the room.

Suddenly, with a bright red burst, the Goblet roared and spat out a piece of parchment. Dumbledore caught it, unfolding the paper. "From Beauxbatons Academy of Magic," Dumbledore boomed, "the champion is Fleur Delacour!"

Fleur stood up to the applause of males everywhere, while most members of her own school stared after her resentfully. Ron rolled his eyes at one of the girls who had started sobbing. Fleur walked to the front of the hall with a snooty expression on her face and was guided to a meeting room off to the side.

Another bright burst, another howl, another slip of parchment. "From Durmstrang Institute, the champion is Viktor Krum!"

This time, many people cheered, but the dour expression on the Bulgarian's face did not change. Karkaroff looked smug; knowing him, he'd probably ordered none of his other students to even think about putting their names in the cup. Such a disgusting little bastard. He should at least be subtle when playing favorites.

When the goblet flared for the third time, Dumbledore smiled reading the name. "The Hogwart's champion is Cedric Diggory!"

Cheers rose from most of the school; in everywhere except Slytherin, Cedric was respected and admired, and even the green house was cordial to him, as there was no denying his magical prowess and skill. Cedric waved to the cheering crowd before disappearing into the other room. Dumbledore smiled at the school.

"Well, now that all the champions have been chosen-"

The goblet flared again, with another great roar that silenced Dumbledore's words in his mouth. A piece of slightly burned parchment fluttered out and Dumbledore snatched it out of the air. His face was no longer jovial as he spoke. "James Potter Junior," he called. When there was no movement, his eyes swiveled onto the Gryffindor table and he repeated himself in a shout. "James Potter Junior!"

Ron saw the poor kid get pushed towards Dumbledore by Hermione. Ginny was glaring furiously at her friend, and Ron winced as he was yet again reminded of his own ridiculous antics. Jim looked meek and nervous; he was obviously receiving at best neutral, and at worst outright hostile looks from the remainder of his school. Nobody clapped. Nobody cheered.

When Jim disappeared, Dumbledore cleared his throat, only to be interrupted by the goblet yet again. Dumbledore read the name, which was, this time, written on a proper, bleached scrap of A4 office paper. "The champion of Salem Witches' Academy is… Harry Stark," he called, though he sounded like his mouth was dry.

"Aw, yeah!" Harry jumped up and grinned, before skipping to the front, shaking a bewildered Dumbledore's hand, and joining the other champions.

Another flare and another roar, Dumbledore read the next name. "Sirius Black Junior from the Sirius Black School of Awesomeness," he read in a resigned tone.

"Gryffindors rule, Slytherins drool!" Sirius cackled as he chased after Harry.

"And the next champion…" Dumbledore sighed loudly. "Ronald Stark from Stanford University."

Ron cheered. "Now I'm part of Stanford! I have something _good_ to put on my CV!"

Ron grinned, uncaring of the exasperated, hostile stares from everyone and two rather betrayed-looking twins as he passed them. Hermione was obviously furious that so many people had decided to break the rules that the Headmaster himself had set. Ron cheekily winked at her, and she harrumphed before turning away, refusing to even look at him.

"I hope I'm not late to the party!" Ron shouted at the other competitors as he entered. Harry and Sirius grinned, Jim and Cedric smiled weakly, Krum was indifferent and Fleur looked scandalized. Both Maxime and Karkaroff wore disgusted looks, staring at the newest entrant like he was a brown smear on the ground. Percy Weasley, replacing the disgraced Barty Crouch, seemed angry, likely for the same reason as Hermione. Bagman obviously didn't care; the more excitement the better.

"Are zese all ze competitors, Dumbly-door?" Maxime asked coldly. "Or perhaps you need a few more of your students to help Hogwarts win?"

"We're not representing Hogwarts," Sirius butted in. "I'm representing the Sirius Black School of Awesomeness."

"Does that school even exist?" Bagman asked, curious more than anything. "Surely you can't apply under an illegitimate school?"

"I know that, Ced. The school does, in fact, exist," Sirius grinned. "Wanna know who the Headmaster is?"

"Who?" Cedric, Bagman, Jim, Harry and Ron asked simultaneously.

"Gilderoy Lockhart."

Harry and Ron burst into laughter while Jim rolled his eyes and Cedric and Bagman smiled. When Dumbledore walked in, he saw that the five students from Hogwarts were in higher spirits than he would have imagined, since their names came out, forcing them into a magical binding contract which they were obligated to fulfill.

"The poor man thought he was signing autographs," Sirius grinned. "He was signing all the necessary paperwork. The man will sign everything he's given, I swear. It wouldn't be hard to have _him_ entered into this tournament by dumping one of his autographs into the goblet."

"Jim, my boy," Dumbledore interrupted quietly. "Did you enter your name into the Goblet of Fire?"

"No, sir," im said firmly.

Dumbledore turned to Sirius, Ron and Harry, all of whom were grinning at him. "I'm not even going to ask," he sighed. "But how did you get past the age-line?"

"My Animagus form," Sirius said.

"Turned mine into a paper airplane and let it fly," Harry shrugged.

"I sent a banishing charm," Ron said.

Maxime and Karkaroff glared at Dumbledore. They were mad at him for not putting on more protections, but they were probably equally angry at themselves for not thinking of such easy ways to cheat.

"Your Animagus form, Mr. Black?" Dumbledore asked.

"Yeah. My Animagus form…" he morphed into a taller, slighter, and shaggier human. "It's my own dad."

"Right," Dumbledore said slowly.

"Impressive, huh?" Sirius grinned as he returned to youth. "Of course, this could also mean that I'm actually an adult with an Animagus form of a fifteen-year-old self… but that's definitely not true, so you don't have to worry about that, Professor."

"Ah, of course, my boy," Dumbledore said, trying to forget the face of one who replaced his lemon drops with those dastardly raspberry drops. Raspberries by any other name would taste as bad. "I have complete trust in you."

"Thank you, Professor," Sirius beamed.

"Shouldn't we be getting multiple champions as well?" Karkaroff complained.

"Uh, no," Harry said, earning a glare from the former Death Eater which he returned coolly. "We're all representing different schools, remember? Or is your attention span really that short? I am a representative of the Salem Witches' Academy."

"But you are not a witch," Fleur said, confused.

"Gender is a social construct, thank you very much," Harry said coldly. "I have basic human rights, you know. I have a right to my own identity, and if I want to be a witch, I will be a witch. Speaking of, I'm going to have to change in the female locker rooms for Quidditch now on."

Sirius and Ron laughed as others spluttered indignantly - those filthy regressives. They didn't need to do anything though; all females on the Gryffindor Quidditch team hated him anyway, with the exception of Katie. Ginny because Harry had humiliated her on a broom, and Angelina and Alicia because he was way too arrogant and cocky. Hey, at least unlike McLaggen, he had the skills to back it up.

"And, before you forget, Karkaroff, I'm representing Stanford University," Ron put in.

"And what kind of backwoods school is that?" Karkaroff sneered, prompting gasps from Harry, Sirius, and a raise of an eyebrow from Dumbledore himself.

"Backwards school?" Ron siad furiously. "Stanford is one of the most premier research centers in the world! Inventions created and technologies developed in that very school has transformed this entire _planet_. The people of Stanford have discovered methods of combatting immunosuppressive diseases and cancer, which I remind you that not only do magicals occasionally contract, but also can't cure."

"Premier for Muggles, perhaps," Karkaroff muttered, but the less bigot-tolerant Dumbledore and Maxime glared at him.

"And now, due to this magically binding contract, I am Stanford alumni," Ron said happily. "I could get a job anywhere with this on my CV."

"Funny, that," Sirius smirked. "I can't believe you need a job to survive."

"Sirius, shut up," Harry said. "I'm Lord Black, you know. I can remove the contents of your vaults in their entirety if I really wanted. Be nice."

Dumbledore was very confused, but decided not to ask anything. If he did, then more than likely, it would become even more muddy and confusing.

"Anyway," Ron said brightly. "Can we pick out the dragons now?"

Everyone's eyes (naturally except Harry and Sirius) spun to face him. "What dragons?" Bagman asked weakly, and the boys snickered.

"The dragons for the first task of the Triwizard Tournament, obviously," Ron said. "Although it's not a _Tri_wizard event anymore. It's a septa… Septawizard…"

"Septawizard Showdown," Harry suggested, and both Sirius and Ron nodded.

"There we go," Ron said happily. "Septawizard Showdown. That's a pretty good name, isn't it? Although I do hope that if any reporters are here in the form of an illegal beetle Animagus, that they'll credit us for coming up with that name."

There was such a heavy silence that all of them were quite certain they heard some sort of insect fly away hurriedly.

Bagman sighed; there was no point hiding it anymore. "The dragons you'll have to face… it will be determined by choosing lots on the day of your first task. We will not be telling you what breeds you might have to face."

The foreigners looked surprised at the turn of events - they'd been given a very big hint about the first task almost an entire month since the beginning of the Showdown! - while the organizers looked defeated. Whistling casually, Sirius, Harry, and Ron walked back to the Gryffindor common room, with Jim Potter quickly following after them.

* * *

"What do you think you're doing?" Hermione screeched.

"_R-riddikulus!_" Ron sobbed, jabbing his wand at the girl, but nothing happened. "_Riddikulus! Riddikulus!_"

"I cannot believe the gall of the four of you! Why do you have to be such attention-seekers? I would have expected it from those three boys, but I didn't expect such behavior from a usually responsible person like you, _James_!"

Jim winced as Harry glared at Hermione and Sirius patted Ron's back. "It's okay," Sirius was saying softly. "As much as she looks like your worst nightmare right now, I'm pretty sure she's not a boggart."

"Maybe you're just jealous because you weren't _clever_ enough to bypass the age line," Harry quipped, coming to his pseudo-twin Potter's defense.

That insult, as intended, turned Hermione's ire onto him, allowing Jim a moment of relative peace. "I'm not clever enough?" She shrieked. "Maybe I'm just _responsible_! Have you ever thought about that? Wait, don't answer, because I already know you didn't, because neither you nor your friends have a single responsible bone in your body!"

"What does it matter to you, Hermione?" Harry shot back. "Entering the Showdown was _my_ choice. That goes for Ron and Sirius as well. Not only can you do naught to stop us, but it was also never your right to challenge my claim in the first place. As for Jim? Maybe if you were a little more observant and patient instead of a stickler for the rules and possibly the biggest arse-kisser on the planet, you'd have noticed that he clearly never wanted to be in the tournament in the first place!"

Hermione flinched at that, and Harry felt that even he had gone a little too far. Perhaps as a result of his childhood - the first childhood - he'd become quite hot-tempered and quick to anger as an adult. He also couldn't tolerate people making decisions on his behalf, and since Jim Potter was basically Harry reincarnate, he felt a personal obligation to protect Jim from the same fate. However, even then, he might've been a little too harsh.

"Hermione…" he hesitated and took a step forward. When she looked away from him, his chest briefly hurt with some leftover affection for his old friend, and regret that he'd hurt her. "I'm sorry. That was uncalled for. I have some bad experiences with champions of authority, mainly because they abused the very thing they upheld. But I know you would never do that and I'm sorry for snapping at you."

Hermione crossed her arms and huffed at him but she was a little more relaxed than before. "I accept your apology," she said quietly, before turning to Jim. "I'm sorry as well, Jim. I shouldn't have accused you like that. Harry's… Harry's right, as much as I hate to admit. I'm sorry I didn't look past my… obsession for the rules."

"Jim!" Ginny called, having been dragged down from the dorms at news of a fight, and spotting him. "How did you get past the line? You could've told me, and we could've entered the competition together!"

"I didn't enter, Ginny," Jim said seriously. "I think-"

"What do you mean you didn't enter?" Ginny exclaimed, then glared at him. "Am I not good enough of a friend for you, then?"

"What?" Jim asked. "I never said that, Ginny."

"Can't get enough fame, can you?" Ginny growled. "I can't believe you, Jim. I've stuck by you the whole time, and this is how you repay me? Would you have been able to get the Philosopher's Stone without me beating the chess set, Jim? We fought the basilisk together, too!"

"Ginny…" Jim sighed, but Ginny had already stormed off. Harry was smirking at Ron - for _whatever_ reason - while Ron looked quite grumpy. Hermione hesitated, before deciding to check on Ginny, and followed her up to the girls' dorms.

All alone, Jim Potter ambled towards the boys' dorms when a hand each landed on his shoulders. When he looked back, it was Harry and Ron Stark, both of whom wore completely serious expressions on their faces - something he'd never seen before on either of them. Jim swallowed. "Yes?"

"I'm not saying this to be mean, Jimmy boy," Harry said. "But if you don't choose your friends well, you're going to have a miserable life. The magical world is much smaller than the Muggle world. You won't meet as many new people here as you would in the Muggle world, so making the right friends while you're at school is a lot more important. Ginny is not your friend. She's a jealous, attention-seeking, and envious bitch. Leave her in the dust."

Jim bristled. "And you would know all about it, then?"

"Of course I would, you moron," Harry said with a strange affection; strange, because Jim couldn't think of anything to let Harry endear him. "Ginny hasn't done anything for you. One, she copies off your and Hermione's homework. Two, she actively encourages you to procrastinate. Three, she's jealous of your wealth and fame - isn't that exactly why she threw a tantrum just then? Maybe she'll become a decent friend if she grows up and stops thinking that everything should be handed to her on a silver platter, but until then, she's only hurting your social life, your academic life, and just life in general."

"Exactly," Ron said, quite grimly. "Have you ever hung out with Dean? With Seamus, or with Neville? Hell, have you even _spoken_ to Faye Dumbar? There are plenty of candidates for friends in Gryffindor. But you've forsaken all of them in favor of Ginny, who hurts you, intentionally or not, and will get jealous of everything."

"Right," Jim said awkwardly. "But she and I have been friends since childhood."

"And you were both children then," Ron said. "You've grown up since then. She hasn't. Sometimes you need to move on, mate."

With that strange bit of wisdom, the two of them, and Sirius, headed up to their own room. Jim followed them quietly, deep in thought. Perhaps he did need to reconsider his life. He wished Ginny wasn't this way, and he wished that this realization didn't come so violently, but… they were right. Ginny just simply wasn't a good friend.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

"Hi… you're Faye, right?"

The brown-haired girl looked up at Jim in disbelief. "Yeah?"

"I, uh," Jim turned a little red. "I'm embarrassed to say that I realized I hadn't really spoken to you properly before. I thought I'd introduce myself late than introduce myself never. I'm Jim. Nice to meet you, Faye."

"Faye Dunbar," Faye replied curiously, shaking the boy's outstretched hand. "So. How'd you manage to stick your name in that cup?"

Jim grimaced. "Trust me, the last thing I wanted was my name to come out of the Goblet. I've always had trouble snapping at my heels since the first year… with Quirrell and the monster of Slytherin. I was just looking forward to a quiet year, maybe find myself…" he faltered and coughed. "Just looking forward to a nice, quiet year, I guess. Do some revision. That sort of thing."

"Then how'd your name come out?" Faye asked. Jim might have become annoyed, but there was no malice in her voice, only open curiosity.

"I don't know," Jim admitted. "I can only assume someone over age put my name in instead of me. I'm sorry my story isn't that exciting. I'm not one of Dumbledore's Golden Boys - they actually _did_ bypass the age line."

"Really?" Faye was impressed, but from what she knew of Ronald and Harry Stark, now also Sirius Black, she couldn't deny that if anyone could figure out a way to cheat themselves into this tournament, it would be them.

"Yeah," Jim said sheepishly. "I wish I was as exciting as they were."

Faye snorted. "Aye, that's why you fought a basilisk when you were twelve and recovered the Philosopher's Stone from You-Know-Who's shade at eleven."

"How do you know that?"

"Lavender," Faye shrugged by means of explanation. One that made a lot of sense, actually. "So, Potter. Are you feeling up to the task? Even if it won't really matter if you're not."

Jim cringed a bit at her bluntness. "I'm really not… but I suppose I have no choice. From what I know the first task has something to do with dragons. I'm not entirely sure what the objective is, though. Maybe I have to defeat it?"

"Maybe," Faye said.

"In which case, I'm not sure how I can do that," Jim sighed, running his fingers through his mop of hair, an action that Faye found mildly endearing. "I only managed to defeat the basilisk through sheer luck and the help of a phoenix and a hat. I won't have anyone to help me, this time."

"Fly," Faye suggested.

"Sorry?"

"Are you a chaser or not?" Faye asked irritably. House Quidditch was a bit of a sore spot for her because she couldn't snag any of the available positions, especially not now with Harry and Ron Stark joining the fray. "I've seen you on a broom, and I'm jealous of your skill. You can outfly anything, even a dragon, I reckon. So just fly around it."

"That's… that's really good advice," Jim said thoughtfully. Faye smiled briefly as Jim went into a thoughtful trance that lasted a full minute in comfortable silence. Then he looked back to her and smiled. "You've given me quite the idea. Thank you, Faye."

"Not a problem, Potter," Faye responded, as Jim left the common room, probably to head to the library like the bookworm he was.

* * *

"You really put your name in that cup?" Lily Potter said, exasperated.

"Hell yeah," Harry grinned.

"And I thought it was bad enough with my son entering this competition _without_ his knowledge," Lily sighed. "Do you at least plan to survive the tournament?"

"Yeah, obviously. I also plan to win. The only real competition I have is Ron and Sirius."

Lily stared at the boy, who had the exact same green eyes as her, curiously. "You don't consider Cedric, Miss Delacour, or Mister Krum to be real competition?"

"They're good, but nowhere near our level," Harry smirked. "Trust me. I'm going to surprise you. Maybe completely gross you out. Probably both. I hope there aren't any rules against _killing_ the dragon…"

"You're going to kill a dragon?" Lily blurted.

"Well…" Harry withered under his mother's intense gaze. "No. I won't," he sighed. "But that means you won't be able to see battles of epic proportions."

"I don't need to see a battle of epic proportions," Lily murmured, holding his shoulders. "You've shown yourself to be a complete idiot by entering this tournament, you and Ronald and Sirius, but I can't do anything about it now except ask you to prioritize your survival over your epicness."

Harry, as much as he wanted to argue, could not. He'd never been allowed the teenage phase of his life when he thought everything his parents did was un-cool. He'd never had practice on arguing with them. And last of all, either directly or indirectly, his mother had sacrificed her life for him, on that fateful Halloween evening.

"But all of my plans involved looking cool," Harry said miserably, and Lily laughed. "But now I can't think of a plan, since you said no slaying beasts."

"Can't you just knock it unconscious, somehow?" Lily asked.

"You should know, your husband's an Auror," Harry grumbled. "Capturing alive is much more difficult than just killing it. It only takes one spell to kill something while capturing alive takes many, many more."

Lily turned on him, her eyes angry. "How can you be so casual about murder, Harry?" She asked quietly. "I lost my parents to Death Eaters almost twenty years ago. As much as I'd like to see those same Death Eaters dead, I would rather not see a creature completely unrelated to that be murdered. What if this dragon has children, Harry?"

Harry was shaken to the core as she realized that his discussion of casual murder of the mother dragon had uncanny parallels to what Voldemort must have been thinking the night Lily Potter was murdered in his world. She was murdered, and as a result, Harry had lifelong consequences, many physical due to malnutrition and abuse, and mental issues due to his excessive inferiority complex and depression. If he killed that mother dragon, then he would be forcing the same fate to what was in her eggs.

"I'm sorry," Harry choked. His throat constricted and tears fell from his eyes, to Lily Potter's shock. Lily quickly wrapped him in an embrace and held him there as he cried. As much as it hurt, it felt good. Being held. Showing his weakness to the one person in the world who wouldn't abuse it.

"It's okay," Lily said soothingly, patting his back. "Just let it all out."

And so, Harry did. He probably didn't 'let it all out' in the way that Lily Potter was expecting, because he started from the very beginning. His father and mother were murdered when he was one year old, by Voldemort himself. He survived somehow but was abandoned with his Muggle relatives, who abused him constantly since he represented everything that household hated; magic, 'unnnaturalness', and his mother, who was a witch. He spent ten years of his life crammed into a cupboard without a proper bed to sleep in until he got his Hogwarts letter when he was eleven.

He was overjoyed and went to school, only to discover that he was something of a celebrity because he'd survived the Dark Lord's personal attack on his family. People tried to cheat him. Abuse him. He was manipulated into being murdered by the Dark Lord because his body was a Horcrux of its own. He returned to life and destroyed Voldemort; the entire public, who had all hated him at one point, now tried to suck up to him. He married a girl under the effects of Amortentia. He became an Auror, and was fired because he 'needlessly' tortured a former Death Eater. He then joined the Unspeakables, but during screening, he tested positive for love potion. This led to a messy divorce that ended with Ginny not only getting most of his money, but also custody of his children.

He tried to visit his kids as often as he could, usually while they were in school and would send them Christmas gifts through the school, but this eventually resulted in Molly Weasley slapping a restraining order on his forehead that prevented him from approaching the Weasleys, his kids, or even send them letters unless they approached first. As his kids grew older and became poisoned by his ex-wife, they completely cut him off and publicly denounced him. That was the last time in his life that he had cried, almost twenty years ago, until now.

Lily Potter was astonished throughout all of this, and most of all, to hear that Harry's murdered parents were, in fact, James Potter and Lily Potter themselves. To learn that her sacrifice had somehow saved Harry's life. And to learn that Harry and Ron had _willingly_ launched themselves through the Veil of Death!

"You kids are so stupid," she commented.

Harry grinned. "Tell me something I don't know."

Lily embraced her newfound child in the tightest hug she could manage and Harry made an odd squeaking sound. "Oh, Harry. I'm sorry I couldn't be there for you. I'll help you with anything you need help with, okay?"

"Thanks," Harry gasped as he was released. "But I'd appreciate it if you could keep this a secret. Apart from Ron and myself, only you, Sirius, and Dobby know about our little problem."

"I see," Lily said softly. "Alright, then, Harry. I'll keep this a secret for you. I'll need to brush up on my Occlumency… but if you need anything, Harry, you only need to ask."

"I will," Harry smiled widely. "Mum."

* * *

"Welcome to the first task of the Septawizard Showdown!" Bagman boomed, similarly to how he'd done at the world cup a few months ago. He was sitting with the other judges, in a colosseum that had been built in the school grounds. The crowd was massive; all of the students were there, as were most of the staff, but there were many more seats for families of students, members of the press, and more.

All in all, it was a crowd of almost ten thousand, and the stadium was packed. This did nothing to soothe the nerves of the competitors; Cedric looked like he was going to vomit, Viktor looked even more surly than usual, and Fleur was pale and clammy. Sirius, Ron and Harry looked like they couldn't care less, but each of them were secretly a little nervous. Something that they would never admit.

"Today, our seven champions will draw lots to go against a specific breed of dragon," Bagman said, "and they will be tasked with retrieving the Golden Egg from the mother's nest! Don't worry, the other eggs are all transfigured fakes. They will be given thirty minutes each to complete the task, but even if they do not, they will be given some points for their technique and skill."

The crowd roared in approval as if they actually weren't watching children fight against the apex predators of the magical world which adults routinely were either maimed or killed by. Would they have the same reaction if one of the competitors got eaten? Harry wondered all of this idly as he waited for the judges to show up in their little tent. Then he grimaced. A certain wigged reporter with claw-like nails painted hot pink approached with a cameraman in tow.

"Good morning, Miss Delacour, gentlemen," she greeted smoothly. "I'm Rita Skeeter, reporter for the Daily Oracle. Do you think you would be willing to give an interview? Say… what about you, Jim?"

"Me?" Jim was startled out of his trance as Skeeter grabbed his arm.

"Hey, no," Harry said quickly, shoving Jim away. "Let me do it first."

"Who are you?" Skeeter asked in a rather condescending tone.

"I really hope you gave us the credit for the term 'Septawizard Showdown'," Harry winked, and Skeeter paled. At this, all the competitors turned towards him and Skeeter, staring at the latter suspiciously. "Anyway, let's do this interview. You can give it here, can't you? Don't want to waste more time, after all."

"Fine," Skeeter said, though she obviously didn't like it. "You don't mind if I use a quick-quotes quill, do you? Great."

Harry sincerely wondered why the hell this harpy was considered a reliable source of news in Magical Britain. The pure aura of greed and that predatory look should have turned off everyone willing to give an interview.

"So, you must be the infamous Harry Stark," Skeeter said.

"Infamous? Why am I infamous?"

"Well, you and Ronald Stark, actually. Perhaps your brother can join?"

"Yes," Ron said, walking over.

"Me too," Sirius said, and joined. "So yeah, Skeeter, why is Harry infamous?"

"I've heard that he's a regular rule-breaker, just like the two of you," Skeeter said. "Do you not respect your teachers' authority, Harry? Is this why you break the rules so often and so blatantly?"

"Nah," Harry shrugged. "If you listened to more than hearsay, you might realize that we're actually model students. We arrive at all our classes, on time, and we do good work. We even found the Founders' relics, for God's sake."

"However, we can neither confirm nor deny that we gave Filch a minigun for his birthday," Ron added. Skeeter shivered slightly; it was mildly surprising to realize that even this female child predator had something she was frightened of.

"It was you?" Sirius cried, betrayed. "Do you know how much that hurt?"

"And do you know how often Filch becomes a target of pranks because he's a squib and can't retaliate?" Harry countered, and Sirius had the grace to look ashamed.

"You seem to have quite the progressive view on squibs, Harry," Skeeter said, genuinely interested; politics always stirred people up and stirring people up meant more sales. "Would you be willing to expand on that idea?"

"I don't even like calling them squibs," Harry growled. "It's a derogatory term. Much like the term 'Muggle'. I hate that shit. The only difference between purebloods and first-generations are that purebloods are fundamentally inferior because they're the product of many years of inbreeding."

Skeeter was shocked, but her quick-quotes quill was working overtime. She fucking loved drama, after all, and Harry had just given her a big bitchfight to get started on. "Like, come on. You gotta admit, Rita. Sirius here is an offspring between Narcissa Malfoy and _the_ Sirius Black. He's a fucking idiot."

"Oi!" Sirius said indignantly.

"Are you not?" Harry asked. "Weird, I thought that your scores were lower than even Draco Malfoy's, and his level of inbreeding is legendary."

"Draco Malfoy?" Rita purred; it was not a pleasant sound. It was like the scream of a banshee; it was a sound that would lead to a family member's political death.

"Oh, yeah," Sirius grinned. "I'm related to the Malfoys by marriage, you know, so I know these things. The male Malfoys are actually all clones of each other…"

Rita Skeeter and her quill were taking so many notes that Harry was afraid her parchment would catch fire due to all the friction. Ron smirked at him after he glanced at the notes taken by the quill. Harry instead turned his attention to the French competitor, whose limited understanding of English left her confused, instead of disgusted, like with Cedric.

"Hey," Harry gave her a smile. Fleur stared down at him; even with his height bonus, he was still an inch or so shorter than her. "Would you care to repeat your name for me? I can only remember you as Miss Delacour."

"I am Fleur," Fleur said shortly. This was going to take a bit of work.

"Well, Fleur, I'm Harry," Harry said, holding out his hand. When Fleur hesitantly took it, Harry kissed her knuckle. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you properly."

"Yes, 'Arry," Fleur said, a little uncertain. First of all, Harry wasn't drooling, and second, he seemed like a gentleman, a complete contrast to whatever previous behavior she'd gleaned from him. Apparently, he was a bit of a troublemaker, but his smile now was perfectly genuine and perfectly chaste.

"Excited for the tournament?" Harry grinned, a bit of his mischievous streak showing.

"Are you?" Fleur asked. "I find myself very nervous."

"Oh, please," Harry said dismissively. "If you are half as powerful as you are beautiful, you deserve to be called a dragon-ess in your own right." Fleur, taken off guard, blushed slightly.

"You do know what I am?" Fleur asked tentatively.

Harry knew exactly what she was, but the honest answer was not always the correct answer. It was strange how much the three champions actually had in common - himself, Fleur, and Viktor. All of them were famous for something; being a seeker, being a part-Veela, or vanquishing a Dark Lord (disputed). As a result, all three of them were forced into a cage built of expectations, and were loved, or hated, for it. Harry knew for a fact that Fleur had a rather miserable childhood because all the girls were jealous of her, Viktor because fangirls like Ginny dared presume that he had no other life than Quidditch.

"What you are?" Harry repeated. "From what I've heard from others, you're a part-Veela, you're a spoiled princess, and you abuse relationships due to the aforementioned ability." Harry saw Fleur's face become dark and stormy, so he gently brushed her arm to stop her.

"But from what little I know about you _firsthand_, I can tell that you were chosen out of all the other girls in Beauxbatons for your skill, not fame, because the Goblet doesn't care about your popularity ranking in school. Which means that you have skill, which you have earned, over hard work and determination, which completely ruins the theory that you're spoiled, which in turn tells me that you're an exceedingly brave woman who will charge through, even if you don't have many friends to support you." He smiled disarmingly. "I admire that."

Fleur's face became quite passive, and Harry wondered briefly if he'd spoken out of turn. It might have been a little aggressive, he admitted to himself. Fleur nodded to him before facing the judges, who had just arrived, without emotion. Harry took a step away from Fleur to give her some space, before focusing on Bagman, who was smiling widely and held a cloth bag in his hand.

"Ah, all the champions are here? Good," Bagman said. "Champions, allow us to introduce you to the finest wand-maker in Britain, Mister Garrick Ollivander." He gestured to a subdued and very creepy version of Doc Brown. "He will be doing the wand-weighing ceremony, to make sure that your wands are in working order."

They did that quickly; Ollivander made quite the mess as he conjured wine and whatever. He stiffened very much indeed when he saw that Sirius was holding a fifteen-inch long elder-wood wand with a thestral hair-core, but he lied smoothly about its properties and gave it back to Sirius without bothering to perform a spell. If he tried, it would more than likely explode in his face.

"Wonderful," Bagman said in glee. He shook a cloth bag that he was holding; what with seven competitors, Harry realized that the bag was bigger than the one he carried in his own timeline. "In this bags are miniaturized models of the dragons you will be facing. You will be choosing the dragons out of this bag; beware, since some dragons are a little more dangerous than the others!" Bagman turned to Fleur, holding out the sack. "Ladies first?"

Harry stepped in front of a confused Fleur and felt around in the bag. He grunted as he was bitten; that was a familiar little shit. He tugged out a model of a Hungarian Horntail, as he suspected it would be. The tiny dragon, made of animated wood, roared adorably and then even began to purr as Harry scratched its head.

"Hungarian Horntail," Bagman announced, then, "Welsh Green," after Fleur had taken her pick. She sagged visibly in relief.

Viktor got the Swedish Short-Snout, Cedric the Chinese Fireball, Jim got a Norwegian Ridgeback, Ron got a Peruvian Vipertooth, and Sirius got the Ukrainian Ironbelly. The last two had ended up with a venomous breed and the largest dragon breed, respectively. At least it had gone to the two more capable of defending themselves than the students, although since Sirius had missed twelve years or practice, he might be in for some trouble.

Everyone would be going in order of school name. Since the B of Beauxbatons was first, Fleur had to go ahead. She smiled weakly at Harry's somewhat flattering and possibly double-meaning words of encouragement. She finished after twelve minutes or so, having used her significantly powerful allure to send the beast to sleep, although at the same time many of the audience had also fallen asleep or fallen into the stands trying to pursue the part-Veela.

Cedric went and fared decently well; he transfigured boulders into packs of wolves, like last time, although a significantly larger number of them. Since wolves tended to prey on dragon hatchlings, the mother was sufficiently distracted and this allowed Cedric to run behind the dragon (thankfully, unlike the Horntail, the Green's tail was no more dangerous than a log of wood and easily avoided) and snatch the golden egg with only light burns.

Viktor tried to blind his beast, as last time, but since Harry had suggested they don't put real eggs in risk, the mother dragon did not end up killing her children. It also would have saved the Ministry about eighteen thousand galleons, too, for the six eggs that were crushed.

Then, it was Jim's turn. Harry pulled on his invisibility cloak and sneaked out to see how his doppelganger was going. He had taken the same course of action as Harry had, and had summoned his Firebolt and weaving through the jets of flame produced by the enraged Ridgeback. Thankfully, this dragon was far less aggressive or dangerous as the Horntail, so he made it back to the tent without a scratch, scooping up the egg like it had been a Quaffle.

"Congratulations," Harry said, thumping his pseudo-twin once on the back. Jim smiled back weakly before he was accosted by Madam Pomfrey.

"And representing Salem Witches' Academy, Harry Stark!" Bagman shouted, and the crowd roared in approval. Harry grinned and waved at the crowd as he sauntered toward the dragon pen. It was weird. He'd had to write a rather awkward letter to the Headmistress of Salem, wherein he had to explain that he, a male competitor, was representing an all-girls school in an international competition of magic. The Headmistress had been surprisingly agreeable, wishing him the best of luck and threatening to remove his kneecaps if he shamed the Institute in any way.

Harry entered the arena and was faced with the exact same Horntail as the last time. Despite himself, he swallowed. He hadn't really faced a dragon on his own ever since, and there was a reason why dragons were so dangerous, even for a man who had trained with Unspeakable agents. How was he supposed to knock it unconscious? Should he just opt for distracting the dragon with something and stealing the egg, as boring as it may be? He really didn't have a choice of killing the dragon; though his mother would suffer it, their relationship would probably never be the same.

As the _bang_ from the judges' wands signaled the beginning of his round, Harry found himself unable to move. He hoped that it wasn't fear. Ever since traveling dimensions through the Veil, he shouldn't be able to be scared of anything anymore. Harry quickly ducked behind a boulder as the dragon roared flame in his direction, charring the stone where he had been a moment.

He decided to make the first smart move, by casting the mother of all flame-freezing charms on himself. It was not a fear of the dragon, Harry realized. It was a fear of being turned into barbecue and embarrassing himself in front of ten thousand people. And he wouldn't have as big of a chance of taking Fleur to the Yule Ball, since she had completed her task.

Harry grinned lazily as he stepped out from behind the rock and immediately got scorched. Over the roar of the flames, he could hear some screams and gasps. However, when the dragon had to pause to take a breath, Harry emerged, completely unharmed. The dragon's pupils narrowed as Harry reapplied the charm.

Another burst of flame, much hotter than before, washed over him. While this was still a little painful, it could be dismissed as nothing more than a shower that was a little hotter than he was used to. He laughed at the dragon. "Come on, is that it? I've _shit_ hotter than that, after I had that bad curry in Liverpool!"

Harry then decided he would rather just charge straight through. He rushed at the dragon, who threw another bout of fire at him - thankfully it was not _too_ intelligent - and Harry allowed the fire to wash over him. Before he got in tail's range of the dragon, he made sure to reapply the charm (perhaps the wand was one reason it was powerful enough to hold against dragon-fire) and then charged at its feet.

When the spiked mace on the end of its tail eventually hurtled itself toward him, Harry used a well-placed banishing charm that sent the tail off course. Harry ducked under the hateful little club and continued sprinting. Now, inside the dragon's personal space, he was too close for either fire or club to be effective.

He sent two overpowered banishing charms at the hind legs of the dragon, which knocked the legs out from underneath the beast, allowing a moment of reprisal for Harry. The dragon roared furiously, trying to stand back up, as Harry snatched the golden egg and ran as hard as he could. When the dragon did stand, it tried to snap at him, and breathed a definitely now uncomfortable fire at him, but the dragon trainers leaped into action to subdue the irate creature.

The crowd cheered as Harry raised the egg up over his head once he'd reached the tent. When he passed Sirius, he muttered "flame-freezing charm" under his breath. As a similarly trained Unspeakable, Ron would probably have enough sense to apply the same charm, but Sirius, while a good duelist, fighter, and had tutored under Moody, had been sent to prison at twenty-one so didn't have as much experience fighting as most would believe.

Sirius grinned at him as Harry thumped his back on the way out. Madam Pomfrey was pleased to see Harry was not injured at all, but only a little hot and sweaty. Harry applied a cooling charm on himself and sighed in bliss. While this was all well and nice, he was sweaty and likely stunk. He needed a bath. So he simply left the tent, much to the other champions' confusion - was he not going to wait for the scores? - and after winking at Fleur, went to take a bath.

* * *

While Ron didn't particularly care for his scores, he was quite certain that he should've earned more.

He'd transfigured the entire nest of eggs into hyperactive little chimpanzees. As a result, about eight or so chimps had begun scaling their mother, screeching obnoxiously and swinging around on the spines on the Vipertooth's back. This infuriated the Vipertooth, who didn't see another chimp dressed in a butler's uniform carry the golden egg over its head and waddle over to Ron himself. When the Vipertooth noticed, it sent a gust of golden flame, but Ron had already applied generous flame-freezing charms onto the little monkey butler who screeched in annoyance and surprise but nothing more. All in all, not a single one of the eggs (once they returned to eggs) were damaged, and Ron hadn't even needed to take a single step in retrieving the golden egg. Karkaroff gave him a _fucking four_. Dumbledore gave him a nine for 'impressive transfiguration and creativity'. Maxime gave a six, Percy gave a seven, and Bagman also gave him a nine, bringing his total up to thirty-five out of a possible fifty.

Sirius had summoned a crate of butchered beef that he'd left conveniently outside the stadium venue. He'd then used the duplication charms to double, then quadruple the beef and so forth, until he had more than enough to feed a dragon. Obviously the quality of the meat became lower and lower with each time the spell was applied, but it was still edible for a non-picky dragon. Sirius allowed the dragon to finish every scrap of beef, and the dragon mother had yawned. So, Sirius made his final move, which was to cast an overpowered sleeping charm on the beast. While dragonhide had a natural resistance to magic, so it canceled out most of the power of the spell, the dragon was already quite drowsy anyway - the draconic equivalent of eating a large portion of shepherd's pie and sitting in a comfortable armchair in front of the fire - so it sent the dragon to sleep. Then Sirius had simply walked up to the egg, posed with it, allowed Colin Creevey to take photos, and go so far as to tickle the dragon - which didn't wake up. For this effort, Sirius got a thirty-four. Complete bullshit.

After all, he'd basically done the same thing as Fleur, except he had to settle for other methods since he didn't have the Veela allure. Yet, he received five points less than Fleur from Maxime alone, and ended with thirteen points behind her in total. Only Dumbledore and Bagman gave good points, a ten and a nine respectively. Karkaroff had given him a three. Three! Ron would like to see that former Death Eater take on a full-grown, nesting Ukrainian Ironbelly.

But, it wasn't all bad. Ron had received a lot of cuddling from Katie that day. She'd been avoiding him a little since his name was drawn from the Goblet, thinking him a complete idiot for trying to risk his life and upset that he would put himself in risk, even if it meant worrying Katie to death. His display today was quick and intelligent, and she felt that he'd done a good job demonstrating his reluctance to be killed and his ability to stay out of trouble. Thus, Katie had finally admitted that Ron was okay, the competition wouldn't kill him, and that she would support him the rest of the way.

"What the fuck?" Sirius was growling. "A Merlin-damned _three_ from Karkaroff? A _five_ from Maxime? If they wanted to play favorites, they should do that in their own time!"

"I am sorry my Headmaster is not fair to you," a gruff voice spoke from behind them. Sirius and Ron turned in surprise to find Viktor Krum. Krum smiled at them; the expression was pleasant enough, but seeing it on the usually dour Bulgarian was… _strange_, to say the least. "I saw both of your fights. They were very good. You both did not get hurt."

"Thanks, mate," Ron grinned; he had been very jealous of Hermione during his teenage years for managing to befriend Krum, and it seemed he still admired Krum now. "Yours wasn't so bad yourself. It was an impressive display of power against a _dragon_. I think if you can beat a dragon, you can probably beat most things in a fight."

"Thank you," Krum nodded to both of them in respect. "I am sure the lunch will begin soon. Would you let me accompany you?"

"Sounds good," Sirius said, and Ron grinned again. Was he now friends with an internationally famous Quidditch player?

* * *

Hey all,

I'd never have believed in the beginning that a story I wrote could receive such generous feedback, but I'm very glad that I am. I'm pleased to learn that many of you have enjoyed this story and that motivates me to continue. However, school is about to start, and with my new job as well, I suspect my writing process will become rather slow from now on and updates more sporadic.

So, the first task is done! The Yule Ball will be next and I suspect this is open season for shipping. I have pairs in mind, like Ron/Katie and probably Harry/Fleur. I'm not certain who Sirius would go with. Of course, if you have good ideas, please let me know in the reviews because I do read and treasure them.

Darien


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter****Eight**

"Eating is actually one of the easier parts," Harry shrugged.

"Seems like it," Hagrid agreed. "Jus' use the cutlery on the outside first, as the course is bein' served."

"Very good, and when you've finished your meal?"

"Put them on the four o'clock corner of the plate?" Hagrid said, scrunching up his face to remember.

"Excellent, Hagrid!" Harry beamed. "I think you're all set for the feast itself, mate. Now we need to teach you how to dress, and how to dance. A waltz should be enough, hey?"

"I - Harry," Hagrid said sheepishly. "I 'preciate you tryin' ta help me and all, but I don't know how to dress formally, at all. Even if I did, there aren't any stores selling clothes in my size."

"Oh, yeah," Harry said thoughtfully. Ron had an easier job, didn't he? Currently, Ron was doing the exact same thing that Harry was doing with Hagrid, except with Jim, Neville, Dean, Seamus, and any other boys in Gryffindor who wanted either instruction or a polishing of their knowledge. They also needed to know how to ask a girl to be their date, obviously. "That's easy. We can just as easily make you an outfit." Harry held up a men's fashion magazine, enlarged for Hagrid's benefit. "This magazine has some of the latest style trends for Muggle men. I want you to try and find what you might be interested in."

"Brilliant, Harry."

"Now, I won't pretend that you might need to clean up a bit, Hagrid," Harry frowned. "Your hair and beard are a mess. Impressive, yes, but hardly _sharp_. You look like an overgrown teddy bear than like a hard, strong man who can protect his date. We're going to give you a haircut, and trim your beard."

"If ye say so, Harry," Hagrid said, although he couldn't hide his nervousness. He stroked his beard with his thick fingers anxiously.

"Don't worry, Hagrid. I was thinking you could rock an awesome man-bun. We won't have to cut your hair too short, and after that we'll just need to smooth it out. As for your beard, we'll have to cut it short enough that Madame Maxime can see your beautiful pectorals," Harry grinned and wiggled his eyebrows, and Hagrid blushed.

Hagrid began flipping through the magazine, and his brows furrowed. "Those are some strange dress robes," Hagrid commented, as he looked through the pages.

"They're not dress robes," Harry said. "Those are suits. Ever since the late nineteenth century, the Muggle world has considered suits to be the epitome of male, and sometimes female, formal and business wear. Suits are designed to fit close to the body and make you look sharp, unlike dress robes that make you look like you're wearing clothes too big for you and end up looking like a child in his father's clothing. There are a bunch of different types of suits for different occasions, but I reckon you could get away with wearing whatever you like best."

"Right," Hagrid said, reabsorbing himself into the magazine. After about five minutes, Hagrid shyly beckoned Harry over. "I like this one," he admitted. He was pointing to a picture of a man wearing a navy-blue suit. Perhaps this particular picture appealed to Hagrid because the model was rocking an impressive beard.

"Right," Harry grinned. He conjured sheets upon sheets of light gray wool-cloth. Then, he asked Hagrid to remove his heavy jacket and sweater (which revealed a muscular torso covered in _very_ manly hair), and began taking measurements of Hagrid with a magical tape measure not unlike the one used at Ollivander's. He then used the information he'd gleamed from Hagrid to transfigure the cloth into a suit.

It took about a dozen adjustments, but when it was done, it fit Hagrid perfectly, and it made him look sharp. Hagrid beamed as he finally put it on. Since it was magicked into existence, the suit had no seams, except where intentional, and as a result looked to be a very fine piece of work. Hagrid, when not wearing his overbearingly thick clothing, looked surprisingly sharp. Harry quickly conjured the trousers to match and told Hagrid not to fold the suit unnecessarily.

"And what of the shirt?" Harry asked. "Do you want to match it with a light blue shirt and a tie the same color as your jacket?"

Hagrid agreed and Harry finished up his outfit. If Harry said so himself, it looked very good; Hagrid, probably for the first time in his life, wore tight-fitting clothing that showed off just how muscular he was underneath all that hair and thick clothing. All Harry needed to arrange was a wristwatch for Hagrid. A thick, chunky one would do.

Meanwhile, Ron was getting exasperated.

"Come on, Neville!" Ron rolled his eyes. "Are you the heir of a Most Noble and Ancient House or not? You're _expected_ to do these things, you know."

"But - but what if they say no?" Neville asked, and the other boys comically paled.

"Then you ask someone else?" Ron stared at Neville and the other boys, who looked as if Ron had just performed some sort of sacrilege. "What? It's not that complicated, you know. If they say no, that must mean there's some reason that the two of you wouldn't work out. Isn't it better to find someone else than spend the night only to discover the two of you don't match?"

"Yeah, but-"

"But nothing," Ron sighed. "Come on, what's worse? Asking someone and potentially getting a date for the night, or not asking anyone and _definitely_ not getting a date for the night?"

"Come on, Ron," Jim said irritably. Fucking echo chamber, Ron thought. "Don't be so snappish. Neville has never done this before, at least not on his own. Isn't it understandable that he might be nervous?"

"Not really," Ron said, getting slightly annoyed now. "Alright, you four, pack it up. Come back with me back to the common room." Neville, Jim, Dean and Seamus reluctantly followed him back out. Ron rolled his eyes at them. "I was going to do this in my own time…" he muttered to himself.

Upon reaching the common room, Ron turned to face all of them. "Alright. You brats look and watch. While inviting someone does not have to be this fancy, maybe you can learn something about dramatics."

The four boys meekly lined up to the side of the common room before Ron went upstairs to his dorm room; he returned five minutes later dressed in a business-casual type attire, and his light brown hair neatly combed. As he came down, he attracted the attention of Katie Bell by brushing his fingers against her shoulder.

"Yeah?" She asked, with a hint of irritation in her tone, although this mellowed slightly when seeing him dressed strangely formal. "I'm kind of in the middle of something here."

Jim gulped. "She's not going to be happy…"

"She'll say yes because they're dating regardless," Neville sighed. "How am I supposed to learn from this?"

"Well, my dear Katherine Bell," Ron smiled, and held out his arms slightly as if for a hug. "I was going to ask you a specific question which you probably already know about." Katie raised an eyebrow. "I was going to ask you that question after I softened your defenses."

"Oh yeah?" Katie's lip twitched into a smile. "How so?"

There was a sudden flash of light and the occupants of the common room gasped and shielded their eyes. However, they tentatively looked after they heard a magnificent trilling that brought joy and happiness to all who felt it. Katie watched in awe, as did everyone else, as a brilliant, gold-and-ruby colored firebird deposited a bundle of red roses in Katie's lap, nuzzled her cheek, and disappeared in another flash of light.

"Oh, my goodness," Katie breathed. "What was that?"

"I asked Fawkes to help me," Ron said, as much to the boys as to Katie.

There were few people who could remain unperturbed in the face of a phoenix song; most people would be feeling elated and sometimes even mildly sedated. While Katie was probably going to say yes anyway, Fawkes had succeeded in instantly calming her and leaving her with sensations of both awe and happiness. The roses of course helped, but they were more an excuse to use Fawkes as the messenger.

"So what say you, Katie?" Ron grinned, running his fingers through his hair. "Will you be my date to the Yule Ball?"

Katie smiled as she stood up and embraced him, to the cheers of their fellow Gryffindors. "Of course I will! You didn't have to do all that, you know, I'd still have said yes. But I'm really happy you did."

The four disgruntled boys watched in shock. Ronald had just used a _phoenix_ to ask his date to the Yule Ball? How the bloody hell were they supposed to match that feat? Once this story got out to the rest of the school (which assuredly wouldn't take long) everyone would be expecting romantics like the one Ron just did. Which, _obviously_, would mean that their own chances of getting dates were only becoming smaller!

When they voiced this to Ron, however, he just smacked himself on the forehead with his palm. "Are you people deaf? Or did you simply choose to ignore the part where she said, 'you didn't have to do all that, you know, I'd still have said yes'?"

"But, but that's because she's already close to you!"

"If my date were obsessed with my method of _asking_ them, then I would take that to mean that they care about their image more than me," Ron sighed. "If you're really compatible with someone, I think your partner will be more than likely to agree, and they won't really care about the method by which you ask. Unless you do this in a lavatory, or something."

"Promise?" Neville said, almost pleadingly.

"Promise," Ron sighed. Then smirked. "Although, last I heard, Harry planned to ask _his_ date in a lavatory…"

"...what?" Katie said, only having caught the end of the conversation.

* * *

"Hello," Luna hummed.

She sat down on the table, opposite Sirius, in the library. Sirius had never been one to study, but seeing that despite their age, Ron and Harry continued to learn, he had decided to take a leaf out of their book. He'd not been the best student during his original school days, so since the beginning of the year, Sirius had been revising all NEWT-level spells for Charms, Transfiguration and DADA.

"Hello, Luna," Sirius replied with a wicked smile. Luna had been one of the students, in Harry's and Ron's memories, who had come along and displayed commendable bravery at the Department of Mysteries in her fourth year. Despite what everyone seemed to think of her, Luna displayed incredible courage and calmness in life-threatening situations like that one.

"Sirius, I've been wondering something," Luna said, and Sirius raised an eyebrow.

"Wondering what?"

"Wondering if you'll ask me to the Yule Ball or not."

Sirius spluttered, a rare moment where he was caught off guard. Luna's face was uncharacteristically serious, he realized, as a blush crept up his neck. Oh, Merlin - that was _not_ an impressionable reaction for the girl. Did he offend her? He damned hoped not - this girl was one of the few females able to keep up with Sirius', and the Golden Trio's trail of chaos and destruction.

"And what outcome are you hoping for?" Sirius asked awkwardly. How, or why, did he have to go through puberty _again_ in his bloody Animagus form?

"I'm hoping that you would ask," Luna admitted quietly.

Sirius and Luna remained silent for a long moment. Luna calmly stared at her fingers, resting in her lap. Sirius not-calmly fidgeted. He and Luna were friends, that much was obvious. If it weren't for the fact that Sirius shared a bedroom with Ron and Harry as well as all of their classes, he and Luna might be _best_ friends as well. However, he was a man in his mid-thirties, at least mentally. Luna was thirteen years old. She wouldn't be turning fourteen until February. She wouldn't be the age of consent for at least another year and a bit, which would make Sirius a pedophile for an equal length of time.

"I'm not sure about this," Sirius said finally. He flinched when Luna's lips curled downward, only slightly. "It's not because of you. Well, it is, but not because I dislike you in any way."

"Then what is it?" Luna asked, and Sirius struggled to answer.

How the hell could he explain this to her? 'I'm sorry, but I'm actually twenty years older than I look and repeating school as an adult?' Sirius desperately tried to come up with something - and he was good at that! He was good at making good lies on the spot, a legacy from his Marauder days, but as much as he hated admitting the truth, he hated the idea of lying to this girl's face, especially when she had only been honest with him.

"I think I know the problem," Luna said abruptly, standing up. "Follow me, please."

Sirius followed Luna out of the library and out into the grounds. The sky was now violet, the sun having set mere minutes before, and the lake itself now looked like an amethyst. It was to this lake that Sirius was dragged to. Luna looped her arm around Sirius' (and she obviously detected his discomfort, but ignored it for now) and they began a slow walk around the lake. A few Durmstrang kids were watching from their ship, but realizing there was nothing exciting going on, their gazes eventually shifted elsewhere.

"You know your secret is safe with me," Luna said.

"What - what secret?" Sirius asked.

"That you are, in fact, _the_ Sirius Black," Luna smiled slightly as Sirius blushed. "I also know about the two of them, too. Ron Weasley and Harry Potter. They told me, maybe a few days ago. They probably somehow anticipated that this exact scenario would play out, so they warned me beforehand."

"And how did you react?" Sirius asked curiously.

"I would be lying if I said I wasn't shocked," Luna admitted. "But I've had a few days to think about it. As much as I like you, Sirius, I don't like you in a romantic way. At least, not yet." Luna smiled up at him. "However, I would still like to be your date for the Yule Ball. You, Harry and Ronald have been nothing but accommodating for me. It's a new experience, one I enjoy. I could ask someone else, but one, they wouldn't accept because I'm _Loony_," she spat with a surprising amount of venom, "and two, I wouldn't enjoy it nearly as much as if I were going with you."

"Right," Sirius said softly, staring at the surface of the lake. "Hey, what was your first impression of us?"

"Very positive," Luna said. Sirius smiled, but that smile slowly died away as Luna continued. "That seven, eight-hour train with the four of you probably contained more conversation than I had in the previous two years of school. I was very lonely before then. And I was exceptionally pleased that you were willing to include me in your friend group."

"You must have been very lonely," Sirius murmured, knowing exactly what that feeling was like for twelve years.

"Ever since my mother died, yes," Luna agreed. "My father did his best. And I appreciate him for that. But nobody can take on the roles of two parents so successfully, especially when my mother was a very vibrant person in her own right."

The two of them continued to walk. Most of the students were at the feast, now, so the area surrounding the lake was peaceful. Eventually, Luna stopped him and stared into his storm-gray eyes with sky-blue eyes of her own.

"So, Sirius Orion Black," Luna stared into his eyes. "What do you say? If you are afraid that you might be taking advantage of me, you and I can just agree to be perfectly chaste. If you want to, ah, get it on with some of the older girls after the dance, you're welcome to do that." Luna smirked as Sirius blushed. "I don't mind, because I won't be jealous, because I don't feel that way about you yet. All I want is to join you, Ronald and Harry, and have some fun with you."

"Fair enough," Sirius agreed. Then, for the first time in this conversation, smiled. He clasped both of Luna's hands. "Luna Lovegood, will you be my date to the Yule Ball?"

Luna's smile widened.

* * *

"'Arry Potter," Fleur said, sounding like she was biting back a more venomous reaction. "Why are we going in 'ere?"

"Because I need to give you a demonstration of what I'm capable of," Harry grinned saucily. "After you."

Harry gestured toward the girls' restroom. Fleur simply crossed her arms and glared at him. Harry sighed. "Fine," he muttered, as he actually stepped inside into the bathroom, making Fleur shriek in indignation. "It's abandoned," Harry said dismissively. "Well, except for one person, and they're dead."

"...dead?" Fleur asked warily.

"Long dead," Harry agreed. "Now, follow me. I have a pretty cool secret chamber that I want to show you."

Fleur followed him reluctantly. Harry had a notorious reputation as a prankster, but thus far, he'd done nothing to Fleur herself. Fleur preferred to keep it that way, but he was the first person to try and befriend her in four years of school life, so she could hardly turn him down. Harry bent over the sink.

"_Open_."

Fleur jumped at the violent sound that Harry made. It must be Parseltongue, Fleur thought, and shuddered. A language filled with such _malice_. Such ill-intent. Words were woven in with hatred and self-superiority and terror.

"It's only a language, you know," Harry commented, as if reading her thoughts. He must have gauged her reaction. "I don't pretend that everyone speaking German is Hitler, would I?"

Fleur nodded hesitantly. Unlike most magicals, she knew exactly who Adolf Hitler was - probably because she lived in France, a nation who had been humiliated at the hands of the filthy Nazis.

"So," Fleur said, shifting the topic of conversation away from Nazis. "Zis is ze entrance to zis place you speak of?"

"Correct," Harry said. He pulled his head back in disgust, briefly, before pointing his wand down at the tunnel. "_Scourgify_." He practically screamed it; the magic rolled off his body and wand in waves, so powerful that Fleur was almost knocked back by it and Dumbledore felt the disturbance from his office. Determining that an overpowered cleaning spell probably wasn't going to hurt anyone, Dumbledore chose not to waste his time with an investigation.

"There," Harry said happily, as Fleur peered down the hole with interest. "Do you like waterslides?"

"Waterslides?" Fleur asked, but didn't receive an answer.

Harry nudged her into the hole. Fleur gasped, then screamed, as she began to plummet down. Harry's roaring laughter faded away quickly, and Fleur began to hyperventilate. Was there an end to this tunnel? If there was, how painful would the landing be? Would she at least die quickly, instead of bleeding to death, a mangled body?

Fleur was surprised to hear Harry's joyous whoop. Fleur gasped as Harry bumped into her as he slid past. While Fleur couldn't see him, he was probably wearing that wild grin of his. "I should start charging people for this!" He laughed, and Fleur felt Harry whiz right past her.

When Fleur finally skidded to a halt in the now horizontal portion of the pipe, she took a full minute to remember to breathe. If she'd received warning of what would happen, she might have been alright… but Stark proved yet again that he was not really a _gentleman_. Well, he was, sometimes… occasionally…

"What was _zat_?!" Fleur shrieked, and Harry winced. "You could have warned me before, _non_?"

"What's the fun in that?" Harry smirked. "Come on, then. Let's go check out the Chamber of Secrets."

Fleur shuffled after Harry, not because she particularly wanted to, but because she really didn't have a choice; she was inside an unfamiliar maze of drainage pipes and preferred that she didn't get lost. Harry confidently strode forward with - what Fleur realized - was a wandless _lumos_. A sphere of pure, white light sat on his upturned palm, flickering lazily.

Harry paused and Fleur stopped beside him. He said nothing, instead standing very still. Was he listening to something? He slowly turned his head to face the other pipes; Fleur followed his line of sight with slight fear. Was something still here? The supposed monster of Slytherin? Fleur looked back at Harry. "What is the problem?"

"I have no memory of this place," Harry said quietly.

Fleur's eyes widened and she grabbed Harry's arm in fear and rage, only for Harry to laugh in her face. "I'm kidding! I remember now. It's this way." Then, he pointed to one large tunnel and skipped into it before Fleur could transform and turn him into a pile of ash.

Fleur's rage against this physically fourteen-, and likely mentally nine-year-old kid disappeared as soon as she saw the door. It was circular, like the nature of the tunnel that preceded it. It was built of stone and likely very thick. Harry's minor strobe cast flickering shadows across the engravings, making the many snakes and serpents look like they were slithering silently. Fleur shivered as she saw the blacked-out eyes of the basilisk engraving in the very center.

"Ready?" Harry asked. He didn't wait for a response - well, he had waited, Fleur had simply been unable to respond - and faced the door. He took a deep breath, and spoke again in the horrible language. "_Open_."

The great stone doors split into four pieces, each looking like a shark's fin, and retreated in four different directions. The stone scraped against more stone with a sound that eerily reminded Fleur of a snake's hiss. Harry stepped through the door, and Fleur could tell whatever lay beyond was very large - whatever light that Harry was emitting, was immediately absorbed by the darkness within.

"_Lumos Maxima_!"

Harry threw the sphere high into the air and it exploded with light. The glow made Fleur cover her face with her arm; when it eased up on her eyes, she looked, and gaped. The Chamber was even bigger than she imagined, perhaps in terms of length twice as long as a Quidditch pitch. And of course, right in the middle, was a giant basilisk carcass.

"Jim Potter…" Fleur swallowed. "He fought zat?"

"He did," Harry agreed. He was a little frustrated that he couldn't take his own rightful credit for defeating a basilisk… though, he guessed, this wasn't the exact basilisk he defeated, instead belonging to Jim Potter.

"_C'est impossible_," Fleur murmured, though the evidence was immediately in front of her.

"It's not like the kid had much choice in fighting it or not," Harry shrugged. "Anyway. Hogwarts, could you possibly send the carcass to the Come and Go Room?"

At that, Fleur stared open-mouthed at the spot where the basilisk had just been - it had simply disappeared! It was rather hard to miss, this basilisk, but now it was gone, instead leaving a lattice of stone walkways and small pools full of icy water. She turned to Harry for an explanation.

"I asked the castle to move the carcass somewhere else," he said. "The castle is sentient, to some extent. It can recognize certain things and move on its own."

"Amazing," Fleur breathed. Then she turned to Harry. "So why did you bring me 'ere?"

"I thought maybe we could have a friendly spar," Harry smiled. "You're the Junior Champion for the European Duelling Circuit, right? Maybe you'll put up a good fight against me."

"Aren't you confident," Fleur snorted. "Do you truly zink you can match me, who is three years your superior?"

"Are you certain?" Harry smirked. "Fine. Why don't we make it a bet, then? If I win in a fair duel, you have to be my date for the Yule Ball."

Fleur blinked at him. "And… what will I get, if I win?"

"...do you want a thermonuclear warhead?"

"A what?"

"Nothing," Harry said quickly. "I'll do one thing, whatever you want me to do, within reason. I'm not going to murder anyone, obviously."

Fleur smirked. "Fine. Standard French dueling rules, then."

Harry nodded easily. He'd participated in quite a few duels back on the continent, so he knew the rules already. It was mainly to do with the arena - instead of a large circular arena where a lot of movement, as well as environmental manipulation, was possible, they'd be dueling on a catwalk-like strip that really tested magical fortitude only. Fleur was likely thinking she would use her three extra years' worth of magical power to crumple Harry's defenses.

Too bad for her.

Fleur waved her wand in a complex pattern and murmured a phrase, which locked the two of them in between two magical walls of light. Harry bowed while Fleur curtsied, and they stood to face each other. Fleur stood sideways, her feet apart and knees slightly bent. Harry stood in much the same position, but legs mostly straight and his left hand held behind his back.

"Ready to lose?" Harry called.

"In your dreams," Fleur replied, and began the duel with a jet of violet light.

Ah, so she was going for a destructive spell designed to incapacitate whatever shield Harry put up. Harry chose instead to take one step to the left, the bolt of light missing his leg by a hair; Harry then chose to conjure a shield that was immediately struck by a flurry of red lights, probably the stunning spell.

Fleur was very fast indeed. Harry was impressed and he was forced to stop merely toying with her if he planned on winning. Her strategy was a good one, from her point of view; she was using a lot of high-level, high-powered spells that any normal fourth-year shouldn't know, and was trying to overpower Harry's shield with her - what should be - super magical strength. It was simply bad luck that she was fighting a man who had spent over thirty years training with the magical special forces inside a kid's body, holding a wand likely more powerful than the original Elder Wand.

As a result, Fleur struggled to hit Harry. Because her strategy relied on brute force, she used a lot of spells that had incantations (and long ones, at that) and also caused a lot of magical drain. The flame that burns twice as bright burns half as long. Harry was fast enough and experienced enough that he could dodge the time-consuming, powerful spells with relative ease.

After about a minute of the onslaught, Harry counterattacked. He interrupted Fleur's spellcasting with a flurry of silent, low-level spells. Fleur hastily conjured a shield, which was struck by finger-removing jinxes, revulsion jinxes and disarming jinxes. Harry then cast a silent, but high-powered _reducto_ at the shield; immediately, Fleur's golden shield shattered like a glass chandelier.

Harry continued to cast the same jinxes as earlier. Fleur erected yet another shield, but Harry destroyed again immediately. She had no time to create a third shield and was struck by two _expelliarmus_ and one _flipendo_. Fleur's wand whipped out of her desperate fingertips while she herself was blown back slightly.

"I win," Harry grinned, snatching the wand out of the air. "That means you have to be my date for the Yule Ball."

Fleur grunted and stood up, brushing the dust off her skirt. She held out her hand and Harry tossed her the wand. She grumbled slightly as she tucked it back inside her sleeve, but when Harry held out his arm to her, smiling, it was difficult to stay mad at him. It wasn't really a punishment to have him for a date. He was better than most boys she could think of.

More importantly, though, she'd finally made a friend.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

The three boys - and also Hermione - had received permission from the Headmaster to go back to London on the weekend to do some outfit shopping for the Yule Ball. Hermione had initially thought the three were going to sneak out, but being best buddies with the Head Honcho himself, Harry and Ron had shoved their permission slip in her face. Hermione had politely asked if she could come along, and they'd agreed, so she had.

But while Hermione could stay at her own home with her parents, Sirius, Harry and Ron were required to sleep at Grimmauld, because they sure as hell weren't going to bother the Dursleys. This meant misery, unless they found something to alleviate the stress brought on by Kreacher and Mrs. Black's portrait (which they planned on getting rid of as soon as possible).

And they did find something to alleviate that stress.

They were currently out in town. It was 1 PM, and they were in a Westfield shopping center, having purchased the largest and most expensive Muggle entertainment systems they could get their hands on, as well as high-quality speakers that they'd scatter across the room. The only problem was, they couldn't decide on what movie to watch.

So, upon purchasing a mobile phone:

"Hey, Hermione, you wanna come on a movie night with us?" Harry asked.

"Um," Hermione's voice said from the speaker. "I'm not sure… I did want to spend the night with my parents."

"Then bring both your parents," Harry said.

"Uh…"

"I think she's politely trying to say, 'no'," Ron commented loudly enough for Hermione to hear on the other end.

"Oh, not at all! It's not like that…" Hermione lied. Very badly.

"We called you because we have a problem," Harry said. "A very large one, if we're honest. We don't know what movie we should watch."

"Oh," Hermione said. "That's it?"

"Yes," Harry admitted sheepishly. "We were going to show Sirius _The Matrix_ but it doesn't come out until 1999."

"The what?"

"Nothing, don't worry about it. Also, tell your parents to invest in Apple if they haven't already. Or we could tell them firsthand, if you bring them over here? At least ask them. We'll have refreshments and stuff. By the way, I'm an amazing cook."

"I don't know if I should trust you."

"Hermione, mate, Harry used to be an, ah, indentured servant for a family who ate three times as much as it should when he was younger," Ron said. "He knows how to cook. He's been doing that for eleven years without pay or even thanks."

"...what?"

"Thanks, Ronald," Harry rolled his eyes. "Anyway. What do you say? Bring your favorite movie, and your parents, but make sure your dad is well prepared to fight off a drunken Sirius flirting with your mother."

"Um, Harry, you're not convincing me."

"Sirius' house is Twelve, Grimmauld Place. Bring your favorite, Sirius is a little behind on recent movies so maybe something within the last decade? Also, we have plenty of guest rooms for you guys so don't worry about going home mildly drunk at one in the morning."

"Um… I think I should speak to my parents about this first."

"Are they right there? Can I speak to them?"

"Uh, sure… mum? My friend wants to speak to you, if that's okay?"

"Hello?" A voice that sounded much like Hermione's, but much more mature. "You're Harry, right? My daughter speaks a lot about you… even if they aren't all good things."

Harry grinned. "That's all I strive for, Mrs. Granger. Well, anyway, I'm sure Hermione has already explained some, but we all got permission to return home for the weekend so we could go shopping for our Ball clothing. We also decided we would have a movie night tonight, and while we have all the equipment, we're missing the movie itself. We wanted Hermione to come along because she's always been such a good friend for us, but she mentioned she wanted to spend time with her parents, as a good child would… so we suggested all three of you come!"

"Plus, it's not like we have parents, so we need responsible adult figures in our lives," Ron added loudly. "At least we have Professor McGonagall at school…"

Sirius was listening to the conversation in sheer awe. The perfect mixture of buttering up a parent - praising their only child, simultaneously as a good friend and as a good daughter - and guilt-tripping the guests, by claiming they had no family of their own. Since Mrs. Granger was obviously very protective of her child, she would have ridiculously honed parental instincts that would immediately come to Harry and Ron's aid…

"Oh, why didn't you say so?" Mrs. Granger said, though her cheerfulness seemed a little forced after that last comment from Ron. "I think this would be a wonderful opportunity to get to know each other. What time should we come over?"

Harry smirked at Sirius and Ron before returning to the conversation. "Well… it would take us a few hours to prepare supper for six. Maybe you guys can come at around seven o'clock? Make sure to bring a movie, of course!"

"That sounds lovely, dear," Mrs. Granger was beaming on the other side. "I'm not sure my husband can attend, seeing as he is quite busy with his job… always leaving things until the last minute…"

"That's a shame," Harry said with an appropriate amount of sadness in his voice. "But that's alright. I had a feeling Hermione wanted to be with you, so we've already gotten more than we were expecting. Thanks so much for agreeing, Mrs. Granger."

"Call me Emma, dearest. I'll see you in… four hours, then," she said happily.

"...how the hell did you do that?" Hermione hissed after a minute.

"Miss Granger! Language!" Harry chided.

"That doesn't matter!" She whispered, frustrated. "How did you manipulate my mother so easily?"

"Oh, we just turned her maternal instincts back onto her," Harry snickered. "We heaped praise on her child, mentioned we were really good friends, and we might also have mentioned that we're orphaned."

"...that might work. I'm impressed," Hermione admitted. "Thank you for the invite, Harry, Ron, Sirius. Please don't go too overboard with the movie night."

"Heh. No promises," Harry smirked. "Remember, it's Twelve, Grimmauld Place. See you soon." He hung up.

"This is going to be great, isn't it?" Ron smiled.

"I wouldn't settle for anything less," Harry agreed, before cracking his knuckles. "Alright, let's get to it. Ron, can you set up the entertainment complex, please? Pureblood Sirius has no idea how they work. I'll start cooking. Sirius, you get started on getting the guest bedrooms ready and removing your mother's portrait if possible."

* * *

"I'll get it!" Sirius shouted.

"Please don't do anything stupid," Ron called from the dining room.

Sirius grinned as he answered the door. Standing before him was the Granger family, Hermione looking very nervous in front of two well-aged adults. Mr. Granger, probably somewhere in his mid-forties, was only just beginning to go bald, while Emma Granger was starting to see gray in her hair. On the whole, however, the Granger couple still retained youthfulness - they probably kept up healthy eating and exercise.

"Hi, Sirius," Hermione smiled awkwardly, and held out a box of quite expensive chocolates. "This is for letting us over into your home."

"Oh," Sirius blinked. "You really didn't have to, you know, but thank you. I'll make sure neither Ronald nor Harry finds out about its existence," Sirius grinned, and the Granger parents smiled. "Come on in, we cleaned everything today so feel free to kick your shoes off. Can I take your coats?"

As Sirius hung up the scarves and coats on a rack, the three guests took his advice and removed their shoes, placing them neatly in the shoebox. Sirius hid the box of chocolates inside a small table on the side of the corridor, making Mr. Granger grin.

"You're Sirius?" He said after a moment, and the child-man in question nodded. "I'm Dan," he said, and they shook hands. "You mentioned you and Hermione were good friends?"

"We all are," Sirius smiled. "Hermione helps us with our homework, and we help her sense of humor."

Dan laughed and Emma smiled while Hermione blushed. "All three of them have a very good theoretical and practical knowledge," Hermione explained. "But, except Harry, they have atrocious essay-writing skills."

"I'm not going to deny that," Sirius agreed. "Now, I think Harry is just about done preparing supper. Would you like to join us in the dining room?"

Sirius led the guests into the dining room where they were introduced to Ronald, and also a wonderful aroma from the direction of the kitchen. Harry took a break from the kitchen to also introduce himself, and complain that the Black family kitchen had more torture instruments than actual, viable kitchen implements. Hermione thought she was joking, but after Harry led her on a brief tour around the kitchen, she wasn't too sure anymore.

"I know from Hermione that you're well attuned to French cuisine," Harry said. "So I tried to make it French-style."

With that, Harry served up steaming bowls of French onion soup (which was greatly appreciated). As Dan and Sirius continued to crack jokes, Harry served up duck l'orange (two ducks because each one could only probably feed three people at best). Finally, he served up truly amazing crème brûlée for dessert. The meal shocked the Grangers to the core, who really weren't expecting anything of this caliber from a fourteen-year-old, and being much nicer than Snape ever was, Harry basked in the attention and compliments happily.

"So, did you bring a movie?" Ron asked, as Harry popped open a bottle of cabernet from a French winery owned by the Black estate.

"I did," Hermione smiled, holding up a video-cassette. Ron internally cringed; right, they were back in the bloody nineties. They were still a year or two from the much more respectable invention of the DVD. "Do you guys like Disney?"

"Lion King?" Ron read the title, his eyes widening. "Didn't that only come out a couple of months ago? You already have it on video?"

"Yeah," Hermione said, smiling at her father. "He knew it's difficult for me to come home, so… he asked around with his, ah, less reputable friends so I didn't have to wait for the winter holidays and go to the movies."

"What a great dad," Harry said, and Dan beamed. "Not like Sirius Black. I can't believe he had a kid with his cousin!"

The Grangers pretended not to have heard. Harry briefly considered repeating the same thing, but a little louder, to see if they would react, but he decided he was being a bad host so he decided not to. Instead, he led them to the upstairs entertainment room, where they were certainly impressed by the fancy set-up, the biggest television they could find on the market (with a direction shrinking charm placed on the television so it only shrunk in terms of depth, making it much closer to the flat-screen televisions of the future) and the surround-sound speakers.

They decided they wouldn't have popcorn since they were so damned full from Harry's three-course meal, but what kind of sad life does one live if they don't have snacks while watching a film? So about twenty minutes in, Harry ended up being forced to go get chips and dips, as well as drinks. There was enough of each to last the entire movie with six people.

The movie was, simply put, fantastic. Soundtrack, animation, likable characters, and good storyline. Harry and Ron had watched it before (obviously) but they still enjoyed it as much as the other four, who had not watched it before. Once they were finished, they stayed up a little longer to finish more snacks and play scrabble. While Hermione partnered with her mother, Harry abandoned the other two boys for Dan. Sirius and Ron complained, correctly predicting that they were about to be crushed.

"See what I have to deal with?" Hermione complained to her mother, pointing at Harry, at his insufferably smug expression in particular. "Every time he knows something I don't, he'll smile at me like that."

This had come about as a result of Harry playing 'ECSTATIC' on the board (using the letter _T_ from Hermione's 'THUMB') and receiving the 50 points bonus. Dan was smirking evilly as he drew their new letters, while Harry was content to watch Hermione's jaw tighten through his ultra-smug expression; something he was very good at, actually.

After they finished, Sirius and Ron led the two women to their allocated bedrooms. Sirius had, despite all the proof of his sloppiness at Lucius Malfoy Guilty Pleasure Orphanage, done a pretty good job of cleaning up one of the guest bedrooms. Kreacher had been made to do Hermione's room (with extremely explicit instructions, lest he find a way to harm the 'filthy mudblood' in any way). Harry was the only one who remained awake with Dan Granger.

"As lovely as you've been, Harry, I need to ask you something." Dan stared at Harry, who raised an eyebrow. "What are your intentions toward my daughter?"

"You're asking the wrong person," Harry shrugged. "None of us even know who her date is. She won't tell us, even after we threatened to raze London to the ground with a nuclear warhead."

"Where would you acquire a warhead?"

"...is that a legitimate question?"

"No, it's rhetorical," Dan assured quickly. "Harry, is Hermione happy at this school of yours?"

Harry hummed and thought about it for a moment. "She looks pretty happy. She recently got into a falling-out with her best female friend, Ginny. It wasn't really Hermione's fault, but she's still affected. However, it appears she's getting closer with other girls in her dorm and a few of the boys. She doesn't seem to be academically stressed either."

"That's good to hear," Dan murmured. "To tell you the truth, there were plenty of times when we considered pulling her out. First was that ridiculous troll in first year - she could have been killed, at the very least very badly injured, if not for the actions of a couple of _eleven-year-olds_. Then there was that petrifying snake, then there were prison guards being stationed around the school. And that school is supposed to be the premier educational institute in the magical world?"

"It's very true that the school has lost its touch," Harry chuckled. "Although that's been happening for several Headmasters' tenures now, it's not just Dumbledore, though he isn't exactly helping either. Ronald and I are doing our best to make the place better, in our own way, but this won't happen overnight."

"Rome wasn't built in a day," Dan agreed. He finished his drink. "I have to say, Harry, you're a lot more mature than I expected from a fourteen-year-old."

"I would imagine so," Harry replied quietly, as Dan Granger retreated from the room to his wife. Harry sat motionless in the wine-red armchair, staring into the crackling fire. What he was thinking of, only God knew.

* * *

"You reckon this is a good outfit for the ball?"

Ron and Sirius were laughing so hard that they were crying, and even Hermione couldn't hold in her giggles. The other customers walked past them with amused smiles on their faces. Harry even twirled in his squeaky leather shoes. In the past hour, they'd been holding a competition to see who could create the most ridiculous ball outfit. Harry was undoubtedly winning, after finding a pair of dark brown cargo shorts and suspenders and fashioning them to look like lederhosen.

He was wearing a white Aerosmith t-shirt and, to make sure his outfit was formal enough, a silver tie to match Fleur's silver dress (he'd been only told the color) and he wore knee-high white socks underneath his squeaky black vegan school shoes. It sufficed to say that Harry was very unattractive, but would also be very popular at the ball should he decide to wear this.

"As much as I admire your clothes, Harry, I think if you wear those Fleur will roast you alive," Hermione said.

"I could always go for an alternative German look?" Harry suggested, preparing to transfigure all of his clothes into military black…

"No, don't," Ron said quickly, preventing the rise of the Fourth Reich. "Should we _actually_ get started on choosing our ball clothes?"

"What's wrong with the jean-jacket that I suggested?" Sirius asked, while Harry smirked.

"Sirius, you realize that Luna is the only girl we know who would put up with her date showing up in a jean jacket," Ron retorted. "In fact, she'd revel in it. Why aren't you dressed that way?"

Sirius growled at him - well, it wasn't as if he could say anything back. Then he burst into laughter. Ron stared at him, confused. Then Sirius' laughter subsided into giggles, so he managed to choke out, "your… first dress robes…" Ron turned beet red at the mention of the dress robes he wore the first Yule Ball and Harry laughed.

"Anyway," Ron said, changing the topic and turning to Hermione. "Have you already done the Yule Ball shopping? Already got your dress?"

"Oh!" Hermione squeaked, and blushed slightly. "I… I have. I was just looking for shoes and maybe jewelry…"

"Oh, yeah?" Harry smiled. "What does it look like?" He asked, full well knowing what it looked like.

"It's a secret," Hermione shrugged. "I want it to be a surprise."

"Fine, then," Harry said. "Shall we be off, gentlemen?"

The three went off to do their clothes shopping. They visited several stores, but in all of them, Sirius struggled, knowing that Luna would be wearing a yellow dress, to find something that would be suitable with a yellow tie or handkerchief. Under intense scrutiny from both Harry and Ronald, they eventually decided on the 'black and gold' theme and Sirius purchased a jet-black suit and gold accessories.

Ronald hardly needed to struggle. He went for a navy-blue satin tux that was almost the same shade as Katie's dress. Harry decided to shed the jacket completely and instead wear the vest on its own; he ended up with a black shirt and trousers, with a metallic gray vest and bow-tie to match. The three were well-fitted and even Hermione was impressed with the normally rambunctious boys.

They went to get their socks and shoes, and Hermione looked for jewelry while Sirius looked for his accessories. Since their shopping had finished early, they decided to wander around the shopping center for a bit, taking in the sights otherwise unavailable in the magic world. There were plenty of those.

"What are the top ten annoying riffs to play on a guitar in a music store?" Ron asked, cradling an electric guitar that had a price tag of £1199. Beside him, Harry was inspecting bass guitars. Hermione frowned for a bit.

"Please don't embarrass me," Hermione sighed. She went over to the piano.

"Goodness, what an upper-middle class white girl," Harry smirked. "Of course you know how to play the piano. Do you perchance play the violin as well?"

"No," Hermione said. "But I've always wanted to play the cello."

"I've always wanted to play the bagpipes," Harry retorted dreamily, and Hermione shuddered. "Do you play an instrument, Sirius?"

"I used to be the drummer for a rock band when I spent a year in the States?" Sirius offered, and Harry raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, really? Were you guys good?"

"Uh," Sirius scratched his head. "Harry, this was a band made up of long-haired, The Who wannabes, barely out of high school and still riddled with acne - plus me, of course. Seriously, do you expect us to be good?"

"You surely must be better than the Weird Sisters," Harry snorted. "They sound like the pained screams of dying animals, the names of which are inevitably mentioned in the title of the song. God, I really hope they don't come to the Yule Ball…"

"I wonder what food they're going to serve," Ron grinned, and Harry rolled his eyes.

* * *

"Where is my bow-tie?" Ron's anguished scream came from the other side of the room. "_Where is my bloody bow-tie_?"

"Check under your bed!" Harry shouted back, desperately trying to smooth his hair down. How had Hermione done it last time? His hair was bloody untameable! He'd tried on fourteen different hair products over the past few days, each time failing to contain his disastrous hair and chipping away at his cool bit by bit.

"Crookshanks!" Sirius screamed. "Give me my cufflinks back, you furry little leprechaun!"

Ron stuck his leg out in an attempt to stop Crookshanks, but the ginger feline jumped over it deftly. Sirius was not so agile and tripped over Ron's leg, crashing flat onto the (thankfully) carpeted floor. Harry would have found it funny if he wasn't near hyperventilating about the state of his hair.

"Ah!" Ron snatched the cat off the ground and shook it. "Release the cufflinks! And stop getting hair on our pants, damn it!"

Crookshanks yowled and scratched at Ron's sleeves. Ron emitted a girlish scream at the sight of his ruined cuffs and dropped the soulless ginger hellspawn. Sirius managed to catch the cufflinks before Crookshanks disappeared. The cat trotted out of the room, and Sirius threw the door shut after it.

"AND STAY OUT!" Sirius roared. He panted slightly as silence returned to their room again. He looked at Ron, and pointed the Elder Wand. "_Reparo_," he intoned, and Ron's cuffs returned to before. Ron blinked.

"Thanks. I forgot about that spell…"

"No problem," Sirius replied, carefully applying the cufflinks to his wrists.

"Yes!" Harry shouted triumphantly. "Trust the Weasley twins to come up with something when literally every major beauty brand failed. I was afraid to try it because, well, you know…"

Harry's hair was still quite wavy and curly in places, but combined with the haircut he got over the weekend and his finally finding something able to tame his hair, it was expertly slicked back. If one looked hard enough, they might see a faint outline of a lightning bolt scar. He'd also swapped his spectacles for contact lenses, bringing out his brilliant green eyes. The storm-cloud colored vest and bowtie contrasted starkly against his ink-black pants and shirt, of which the sleeves had been rolled up, revealing lean but visibly virile forearms, the left one covered in a silver-and-black Omega wristwatch.

Sirius looked up and down appraisingly. "Looking good, mate. Glad to see the hair product worked - without side effects, too."

"Even Fred and George wouldn't ruin someone's ball outfit," Ron said. "They're not cruel, you know."

Ron stood up, having used _scourgify_ the cat hairs off his dark trousers. He stood up, and Harry grinned. The navy-blue fabric matched his blue eyes, his oxford shoes were polished to the extent that one might use it as a mirror (courtesy of Dobby), his nearly folded, sapphire-colored silk handkerchief lay snug in his breast pocket, and a blue-faced Rolex Submariner wristwatch gleamed on his wrist.

"Merlin, it's good to have a rich friend," Ron said, smirking at Sirius, who winked back.

Sirius himself was dressed quite flamboyantly, but no less dashing. His black three-piece tuxedo had eye-catching gold trimmings, and his kerchief shimmered gold. His long hair had been well-polished and tied into a bun near the top of his head. Instead of a wristwatch, he'd opted for a chunky gold pocket-watch Black heirloom.

"Shall we?" Ron asked, and the other two nodded.

They stepped as one out of their room, revealing their presence to the common room. To half-bloods and purebloods, the lack of coattails made for an interesting sight, and the Muggle-born students who decided to purchase 'dress robes' were now no doubt longing for familiar Muggle fashion.

"Off you go, then," Ron said, waving the other two away. "I have to wait for Katie."

The other two nodded and headed downstairs. Sirius eventually bade Harry a temporary farewell, explaining that he needed to greet Luna outside the Ravenclaw common room. Harry felt a bit of pounding in his chest as he realized he was now all alone. He'd done this sort of thing plenty of times before - why was he getting nervous now?

"Mr. Stark," McGonagall greeted him. She was wearing a very proper, but elegant green dress. She looked him up and down. "You decided not to wear dress robes?"

"Please," he snorted. "The wizarding world is about two centuries behind on fashion at the bare minimum. I don't plan on dressing like my many times great-grandfather at a social event."

McGonagall's lips twitched upward. "Well, perhaps you made the right call. You look very fine, Mr. Stark, and I have no doubt your date will agree."

"Please, Professor, at least wait a few more years until you express your interest in me," Harry smirked, and McGonagall spluttered slightly.

"Harry," Cedric nodded to him. Cho Chang, as last time, was on his arm. Both looked nice, but nowhere near as nice as either he, Sirius or Ronald, in his opinion; no matter how fine the man - and Cedric was _quite_ the hunk - dress robes that hung loosely from the body was simply not attractive.

"Cedric," Harry responded. "You look good."

"I know I do," Cedric replied. "But I seem to have nothing on you. Is that Muggle fashion, or did you design it yourself?"

"The former," Harry responded. Cedric was a friend, so it didn't really matter, but Harry did want to rub a snooty pureblood's - say, Pansy Parkinson or Draco Malfoy's - face into superior Muggle fashion. He thought today a perfect opportunity for such.

"Wow," a small voice breathed. Harry turned around to find his pseudo-twin. He was dressed indeed quite fancily; he was the heir of an Ancient and Noble House, after all, even if the Potters weren't the richest. He was dressed in red and gold - incredible Gryffindor colors - and wore the heavy House signet ring on his left forefinger. Beside him was Faye Dunbar, also dressed in red and gold, and she looked positively radiant.

"James, Faye," Harry greeted. "You're both looking fantastic. Especially you, Faye, but then again, you don't look like Jim." Faye laughed as Jim frowned.

"I don't see you with a date, Stark," Jim growled, clenching his fist.

"I agreed to meet her here," Harry shrugged. "She's French, so…"

"A Beauxbatons girl?" Faye raised an eyebrow. "Have the French learned to shave their legs and pits yet, Harry?"

Harry laughed at that, and was saved from answering that potentially dangerous question (if judging by the glare sent by McGonagall) by the arrival of Viktor Krum and, as before, Hermione. She was wearing the same dress as before, periwinkle-blue and seemingly made of fabric as light as feathers, judging by the way it floated whenever Hermione turned or spun. The only difference was that her ears were adorned with a pair of sapphire earrings that the three boys had bought her over the weekend (though Sirius had paid for it).

"Whoa," Jim breathed. "That's Hermione?"

Harry agreed. If it were possible, Hermione somehow looked better than the last time Harry'd seen her - although it might just be the fact that it was thirty, forty-something years ago. Viktor was dressed in some sort of Bulgarian-styled attire, which looked plenty better than the ridiculous dress robes.

"Hi, Jim, Harry," Hermione said shyly.

"You look very good, my friend," Harry nodded appreciatively, and Hermione beamed. "You'll steal the show, I think."

Well, that might only be partially true.

Harry was the last to realize that someone else had made their entrance; this was ironically due to the fact that he was immune to Veela allure and one of the biggest reasons Fleur favored him in the first place. When he did turn to see her, though, he was no longer entirely immune. Fleur wore the silver dress she'd promised, a little lighter in shade than his vest and tie. It was not revealing, but fit tight across her chest and waist, showing off her figure, and the fabric shimmered like Niagara Falls as it tumbled down to her ankles. Her hair was polished until her braids appeared to be made of mithril, and her aquamarine eyes sparkled as if struck by light. Her full, uncolored-yet-vividly-pink lips were twisted into a slight smirk that radiated self-assurance.

"Fleur Delacour," Harry said softly.

"'Arry Stark," Fleur replied.

"Are you sure you're not Galadriel in disguise?" Harry asked, and behind them, Hermione - likely the only one to recognize the reference - smiled.

"Who?" Fleur blinked, then smiled at him. "I shall research zat later, to make sure you are complimenting me. You look very good, 'Arry."

"Nowhere as good as you, Fleur," Harry said honestly.

After another minute, Ron and Katie had arrived with Sirius and Luna. Both looked very good, truly; Katie wore a low-cut, navy blue dress, and Luna wore sunshine-yellow that suited her dirty blonde hair and her bright smile. McGonagall looked over the champions, decidedly impressed at the scene.

"All the champions are here, then," she nodded to herself. "Very good. In that case, each of you will enter the Hall in alphabetical order of school." She then turned to Fleur and Harry, an eyebrow raised in unasked question.

"Please don't go first," Jim begged. "You'll make me look sub-par."

Harry gave him a lopsided grin. "Well, since Fleur is an actual student of Beauxbatons while I am only an honorary student of Salem…"

McGonagall nodded. "In that case, Mr. Stark and Miss Delacour will enter first and open the dance. A reminder that the first dance belongs entirely to the twelve of you. Do not set a bad example, but most importantly, enjoy yourselves."

Harry held out his arm toward Fleur, smiling. Fleur looked back into his vivid green eyes and looped her arm around his. They stood at the front of the line and prepared themselves, breathing deeply in and slowly exhaling.

The grand doors swung open.

Harry and Fleur swept into the room. Fleur was leaking a bit of allure, and the Hall immediately quieted down as the two regally made their way to the center, the big open space. The darkened room was illuminated only by a small number of colored candles, and the fairies circling the multitude of Christmas trees, and the stars sparkling on the ceiling of the Hall. The silence was a reassuring weight on their shoulders; Harry and Fleur placed their hands on each other as they began to dance.

The silence was broken by the Weasley twins and loud cheering. With that signal, the crowd remembered to applaud the newcomers with vigor; Hermione received plenty of shouted compliments as she was taken to the center by the somber Bulgarian. Everyone else joined them, and as the first dance began to progress, the crowd quietened once more, allowing the six couples to be drawn into their own worlds.

It was a slow waltz, which gave Harry plenty of time to admire his date and also the layout of the room. It had been expanded to about thrice its normal size to accommodate everyone and the decorations. Harry spotted Hagrid who, with his new attire and haircut, looked positively dashing, speaking with Madame Maxime who seemed to be accepting his attention happily. Dumbledore was dressed, naturally, in the flashiest robes around; red-and-gold not unlike Jim Potter, with the small addition of a phoenix-plushie hat which undoubtedly had drawn inspiration from Madam Longbottom's stuffed vulture hat.

Fred was with Angelina Johnson and George was with Alicia Spinnet. Ginny had ended up going with Neville. He recognized a few other faces, from Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. Roger Davies, since Fleur was no longer available, had ended up going with a girl from Hufflepuff. He noticed Draco Malfoy staring enviously at Fleur and likely ignoring his date Pansy; when Harry made eye contact with Draco and smirked, Draco looked away - though Harry noticed that his eyes simply gravitated towards Daphne Greengrass, who didn't have a date (likely having turned everyone down).

The champions eventually finished dancing, and the dance floor was now open to all. They had a bunch of dances, some of which Fleur and Harry participated in. They switched partners occasionally - Harry received an opportunity to dance with Katie ("I had no idea that you or Ron were so good at dancing!" She'd exclaimed) and with Luna ("Did you know that you can attract blubbering humdingers if you do a North American rain dance?" She said, and Harry had to ask her very politely not to demonstrate). He also had a dance with Hermione ("I'm really out of shape for this much exercise…" she was muttering to herself) and with McGonagall.

"Goodness," Harry gasped, eventually returning to Fleur's side at the refreshments table. "It's been some time since I've danced so much… I'm getting cramps in places I didn't even know I had muscles."

Fleur laughed. "Well, I 'ope you are ready to dance some more. I 'ave not had my share yet, I zink."

After a brief break, during which Harry, Ron, Sirius and their respective dates filled their stomachs with finger foods, they recognized jazz music being played. Ron and Harry blinked as Sirius, Katie, and Luna turned on them with a predatory, hungry look on their faces. Fleur looked confused.

"What?" Ron eventually said.

"What do you mean, 'what', Mister Finalist-at-Greater-London-Swing-Dance-off?" Katie smirked. "We're waiting for the two of you to back up your words."

"Why didn't you just say so?" Ron smirked, standing up. Beside him, Harry wore a similar expression. "Shall we, Harald Stark?"

"We shall, Ronald Stark," Harry responded.

They stepped onto the dance floor - drawing some strange looks from the other couples - and they took their place. Harry took up the position of the lady - mostly because in both this life and the previous, he was shorter than Ron - and they began to dance. Complicated routines of twirls, kicks and spins; their movements were almost instinctual with only the barest thought behind them. The crowd watched at first in quiet ridicule, but that changed into awe and amazement as their dance got progressively more complicated and acrobatic. The crowd roared with approval when Ron flipped Harry over his back.

They only lasted a minute and a half before they were completely exhausted, though, and they returned to their dates upon applying cooling charms on themselves. The entire group was waiting for them with slack-jawed wonderment, except Luna, who beamed and applauded their return. Ron and Harry grinned, swept a bow, and promptly went to rehydrate themselves at the punch table.

"I thought they were joking," Sirius finally commented.

The six of them went out onto the dance floor again for the final slow-dance. Harry with Fleur, Sirius with Luna, and Ron with Katie. They twirled slowly but surely around the room. The couples that remained slowly began to exit the real world and entered the worlds of their own creation, an empty ballroom filled by nothing but their own presence and the music of their souls.

"This was a wonderful night, Ron," Katie murmured, somewhere. "Thank you."

"I don't think I'll ever forget this, Sirius," Luna said, completely serious. She kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you for a wonderful night."

Fleur didn't say anything. Instead, she only smiled, but the smile was the widest and more sincere that Harry had ever seen. The smile spoke all that Harry needed to know.

The fading footsteps disappeared as the doors of the Great Hall quietly closed.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

"Oi."

The way it was said, it sounded suspiciously like herself - except male. Ginny raised her eyes from the roll of parchment, curled up, sitting on the table before her. The parchment was covered in surprisingly neat lettering, but the words trailed off halfway through a paragraph and the ink was long dry.

"What do you want?" Ginny growled.

If what she'd learned was correct, Ronald Stark was partially responsible for turning Jim against her. Ginny had to admit that she wasn't exactly being mature then, but seriously! Friends were supposed to stick with each other, damn it, and if it weren't for the Starks, Jim would have come back to her eventually.

"How do I start this?" Ron sighed, sitting down beside her; Ginny stiffened. "Maybe we should start with your character flaws."

"What makes you think I'm going to listen to you?" Ginny said.

"Because what you have is a choice," Ron shrugged, almost uncaringly. "You can either listen to me, and do as I say, and possibly end up as a better person towards the end of it, maybe even pick up a few useful skills in the process. Or, you can go back to dreamland and live your life the way you want, eventually lose your friends and bet the quality of the remainder of your life on the wealth of the bloke you end up marrying."

Ginny glared at him. "Piss off."

Ron smirked. "Thought you'd say that, so I'm just going to ignore you and list all your character flaws." Ginny spluttered as Ron began ticking off his fingers. "You're too self-centered. You only recognize your own feelings. Does that make you apathetic? Anyway. Two, you're too undisciplined. You need to learn to create a schedule and stick to it so that you can learn things, and you need to be able to make yourself do homework."

"Great words coming from a kid who got rest-of-the-year-detention last year and lost us two thousand house points," Ginny sneered. "I've heard that half the time you don't even bother submitting your homework."

"That's because I don't see homework as an important use of my time or brain," Ron shrugged. "But I get up every morning at six, regardless of weather, and I'll train with Harry and Sirius for one and a half hours. Breakfast, classes, lunch, classes. Once that's all done, I'll meditate for half an hour, spend two hours researching magic _beyond_ the curriculum, dinner, and then I'll spend an hour practicing whatever spells that need practicing. The rest of my day is free time." Ron looked at her. "I've been keeping this schedule since I've come to this school. Have you got anything of that sort?"

Ginny didn't respond. Judging by the neutral mask that Ron wore, he probably didn't expect her to, either. He watched in silence, no doubt waiting for Ginny to verbally retaliate. Ginny didn't give him that satisfaction.

"Am I a bad friend?"

"Yes," Ron responded bluntly. Ginny winced.

"And you're saying I can be better?"

"If you couldn't, then I wouldn't be giving you this lecture. I'd just leave you to rot," Ron shrugged. "In fact, the only reason I approached you is because-" he grimaced, "-I see something of myself in you. I had one best friend, I think, and in my foolishness almost lost him. My life would be a living nightmare if I didn't learn the lesson that I did."

"Harry?" Ginny guessed, and Ron nodded once, sharply.

"I'll give you tonight to think about it," Ron said, standing up again. "If you're serious about wanting something, then I suggest you wake up at six and follow us onto the school grounds. Wear something you can move around in."

Ginny pondered this as Ron disappeared from view. What would her future be like without Jim? As a child, she'd always idolized the Boy-Who-Lived, as some sort of storybook prince who would come to rescue her. She'd been introduced to Jim when they were six; it was at an old Order of the Phoenix meeting celebrating the anniversary of Voldemort's death and mourning their lost comrades.

Jim had been unfailingly polite, humorous, confident as a Gryffindor should be, but not arrogant. Ginny had managed to become close friends with him through their mutual love of Quidditch and pranks, and she wasn't ashamed to admit that the crush she'd had on him since before meeting him had never really ebbed away.

What would her life be like, if she lost him?

There was a rather obscure, yet perfectly ordinary, household charm that allowed one's wand to act as an alarm clock of sorts. Ginny had never considered herself to need it, since she woke quite routinely before breakfast. Today, though - or more accurately, tomorrow morning - she would test it out.

* * *

"I didn't sign up for _this_!"

"You didn't sign up for _any_ of this!"

Jim Potter was silent throughout this entire exchange, though he didn't say a word. He wasn't going to spoil his well-earned break with Harry shooting more and more stinging hexes at him. Meanwhile, he was shooting stinging hexes at his sister Iris.

"When you said training, I expected, you know, _training_! There's absolutely - _oof_! - no point to this exercise! Unless somehow being hit by minor spells is supposed to build up your resistance to greater spells?" Iris asked sarcastically.

"No point?" Harry snorted. "Big words from a little girl who hasn't even gone through puberty yet."

"You're only two years older than me!"

Jim smirked. Three days ago, it had been a massive shock - to find out that your weird, noticeable transfer student was, in fact, _yourself_ from a different dimension. What Jim himself could have turned out to be, in a different life. It had taken him surprisingly less time to get over the shock. A bigger shock was the fact that his mother knew and supported it.

Iris didn't know, however. Iris didn't really know that Harry was thirty-something years older.

Iris whipped out her wand and sent a flurry of jinxes towards Harry in anger, some of which a mere second-year should not know. In response, Harry didn't bother with his wand; instead, he stepped forward and weaved his way through the maze of flashing lights. Jim watched, impressed, as his pseudo-twin demonstrated the result of this sort of exercise; dodging ability.

Harry then raised his wand and mirrored Iris' spells. The exact same jinxes were sent hurtling at her; Iris managed to dodge the first two, but was struck by the third, fourth and fifth. She gasped as she fell to the floor, antlers sprouting out of her head.

"_Finite_," Harry intoned, and the side-effects vanished. "Is there still no point?"

Iris only glared at him. She got the hint, obviously, but she didn't want to admit anything to this bastard.

After all, ever since this kid had come to Hogwarts, entire toilets had been flooded, the Gryffindor common room had been filled with cawing eagles, the house-elves had risen up in rebellion not just once but _twice_, and the statues had begun to silently follow people _only_ when they were not in their target's line of vision, leading to many hushed horror stories told at night in the safety of the common rooms.

"You're good for a first-year, Iris Potter," Harry said, and Iris shouted her protest. "Oh. Wait, second year? Nothing that impressive, then." Iris fumed and while Jim couldn't see it on Harry's blank face, he knew Harry was laughing internally.

"How much longer are we going to do this exercise?" Jim asked.

"Usually would take about a month to get to a satisfactory level, but since you play Quidditch and you play well, I'd say you already have a lot of dodging skill ingrained in you," Harry said thoughtfully. "For you, at least, I don't think it'll take too long. Give it a week or two, and we'll also have to teach you to dodge certain spells more than others."

"Shouldn't you be dodging all of them?" Iris asked.

"Well, if you can, then yeah," Harry shrugged. "But if a time comes that you can only dodge either an Avada Kedavra or a bone-breaking curse - then you need to be able to confidently step into the path of the bone-breaker."

"Did you ever have to do that?" Iris asked, though her tone was still a little disrespectful.

Harry smiled darkly. "You wouldn't believe me when I say I did. Only for training, though. The whole point of these exercises is to dodge as many as possible, and you don't often get caught in a situation where you can only dodge one or the other by sheer coincidence."

"Have you ever been hit with a _Crucio_?" Jim wondered, remembering his lesson on Unforgivables with Moody and how both Ron and Harry had managed to shake the Imperius off with only a moment of hesitation.

"Plenty," Harry smirked. "It's a favorite of dark wizards, that one. It takes a lot of power to do any real damage, but the spell will momentarily immobilize your opponent and, more often than not, completely destroy their will to fight back."

"You've been _Crucio_ed before," Iris said, with more than a little skepticism in her voice.

Harry turned to his twin. "Jim, this is getting annoying. I think you and your sister are going to have a nice long chat later, about my identity. I give you permission to speak about this, but only to your sister and only within the Chamber of Secrets."

Jim felt a slight tingle of magic concentrate around his throat; the Fidelius was allowing him some leeway so that he could speak to Iris about the secret. Jim sighed; Iris was very headstrong, and it would be difficult to convince her that any of what he was telling was real, especially without Harry's memories to accompany the information.

Harry smirked at Jim, as if perceiving exactly what Jim was thinking, before he turned away and disappeared through the darkened sewage tunnels. Jim sighed again, returning to his sister's expectant gaze. Her hands were on her hips and her lips were pulled thin. It was so identical to the expression their mother pulled when she was demanding an explanation that it was scary.

"Have you heard about parallel dimensions?" Jim asked, and Iris snorted, but didn't interrupt. "Well, to make a long story short… he's _me_."

Iris paused all functions for a moment, considering. She hadn't exploded yet; maybe this might be easier than he th-

"WHAT?"

* * *

"Hello and welcome to the second task of the Septawizard Showdown!" Bagman boomed across the lake. His voice was only just barely heard by a crowd that, again, seemed to have no problem watching children perform potentially lethal exercises. "The second task, as you can see, will be performed in water."

Ron looked over at his competitors. So, who was going to be who's hostage? Cedric's was Cho, if he remembered correctly, and Viktor's was Hermione. Fleur's was her sister, and Jim was probably going to see his sister taken hostage as well. Sirius had Luna, Ron had Katie, but Harry? Harry's hostage was originally Ron himself. It really didn't help that all of Harry's closest friends were already participating in this convoluted tournament one way or another.

"Uh, Professor?" Harry raised his hand, catching Dumbledore's attention. "Who exactly is my hostage going to be? All of my friends seem to be participating already."

"Ah, yes, you were a little tricky," Dumbledore nodded. "We would have asked Ronald or Sirius, but they are already participating, and the same goes for Miss Delacour. We had to look in different places, so you might be surprised. It is someone you spend quite a lot of time with, but probably aren't expecting."

Harry frowned and Ron wondered who Dumbles was talking about. Who did Harry spend a lot of time with? Certainly not Fred or George, because they never did anything unless the other was also involved. Surely Professor Potter or the Sorting Hat would not have agreed to this madness. Who else…?

Ron's eyes widened in realization, and he burst into laughter. Harry glared at him, and everyone else watched him in confusion. It took him a moment to regain his breath, during which Bagman had finished explaining the concept of this particular game.

"Are you ready, competitors?" Bagman shouted, and before any of the competitors could answer, the crowd roared in approval.

Ron took one last glance at his rivals. Sirius was looking irritated, knowing that he was having to swim. Fleur, while very attractive in her bathing suit, was hyperventilating slightly. Jim held a disgusting blob of plant matter in one hand that he'd probably received from Dobby. Krum was as stoic as always, and Harry - well, Harry still seemed to be wondering just who his hostage was supposed to be.

"Go!"

Krum, Cedric, Ron, Sirius and Harry charged at the water. Krum was transfiguring himself into a rather comically proportioned shark, like a child's drawing, but it had gills; the other four were all casting bubble-head charms on themselves. While it might not have been original, the charm had one very good advantage - it allowed one to breathe, and in extension, allowed one to cast incantations.

The five crashed into the water at the same time. Ron managed to hit the water first through his height advantage. He began to swim furiously, but through the bubble-head (which provided another advantage, that is it acted as a pair of goggles and cleared his line of sight) he saw Harry point his wand at the pier and send off _bombarda_ curses. The explosive power of the spell sent him rocketing down towards where the hostages were roughly supposed to be.

"Holy shit," Ron saw Cedric mouthing.

Ron was sorely tempted to copy Harry, as Cedric was now trying to do, but he had a plan that might take a little longer but guaranteed to give him extra style points. He applied a warming charm on himself - the lake in February was nothing to joke about, why the hell were they doing this again? - and swam on the surface towards the region of the lake where the hostages were located.

He'd been swimming for about ten minutes when he stopped. He trod water, sticking his face under the surface and spying any landmarks. It should be around here, from his memory, or from Harry's memory replaying the event. He pointed his superwand downward. If it weren't for the sheer power that his merged wand could process, he might burn out his wand for all he knew. He grinned. "Geronimo," he whispered to himself.

And cast a large-scale switching charm.

What was the charm cast on? The water itself - in fact, two-point-five million cubic meters of it - was replaced with the air in the sky above the lake. As a result, one thousand Olympic standard swimming pools' worth of water was displaced, falling to crash onto the lake on the other side in a mighty explosion of water; despite the landing point being the entire lake's breadth away, some members of the audience felt a mist settle on their faces. Meanwhile, the lake below Ron gurgled, and Ron wondered for the hundredth time if the extra style points were worth almost killing himself for.

Yeah, might as well.

As the water above rushed to fill the absence of liquid below, it began to spin. This was effectively what occurred when one pulled the plug in a bathtub. Except, this time, Ron had opened up a drain as large as one thousand swimming pools. He felt a lot more exhausted than he expected, despite having practiced, and the wand in his hand was so cold that it was almost freezing onto the skin of his fingers, at this point almost completely absent of all energy forms including heat.

A great vortex began to form beneath him and Ron felt like a ship in a storm. He was thrown into the maelstrom with force - since the banishment of the water was immediate instead of gradual, the resulting whirlpool was a lot stronger. He was tossed around and around at speeds reminiscent of the Gringotts carts (alright, that was a bit of exaggerating, but it certainly made him sick enough to remind him of the carts) and slowly sucked under as the crowd watched in ecstasy.

He… might have outdone himself, a little. He was close to magical exhaustion, which was certainly a problem, but he'd also managed to suck a few other competitors in. Sirius was trying to escape - which, of course, was futile - while Cedric seemed to have just given in and allowed himself to be swept into the whirlpool.

"Ron, you bloody bastard!"

Ron barely heard the voice over the thundering waters and the whistling wind, but he just managed to snag onto it, because it was so familiar. It was Harry's voice. Ron looked around, searching for him and - there! Towards the surface and on the opposite end of the maelstrom, Harry was furious. Red beams of light flew at him - but with the speeds that both of them were moving, all of them fell spectacularly short. Ron squinted. What the hell was that massive black thing Harry was carrying-

Ron howled with laughter.

It was Hagrid. Harry's hostage was none other than Rubeus _bloody_ Hagrid. No wonder Harry was so mad; it must have taken him a lot of effort to drag a person as heavy as him back up to the water. Since Hagrid had breached the surface of the lake, he'd woken up - and now, having been sucked into a whirlpool of Ron's making, he was panicking, and making for a very uncooperative hostage.

Ron eventually hit the bottom of the whirlpool and, with a crushing sensation, was pushed into the water. He used the momentum to dive deeper underwater, the bubble-head charm thankfully keeping the air pressure constant for him to breathe relatively normally. Ron continued to go straight down, and only a little out of place from where he was in the surface - or so he thought - was the merpeople's village.

Ron approached wearily, wand in hand. He conjured weights on his waist to help him go down, and he slowly approached Katie's limp, floating figure. Her dark hair spread outwards like a mist of ink, released by squids when they felt threatened. Her body was wavering in the water, yet so still that she looked like a corpse - no, not like that, that was grim. No, she looked like she was frozen in time. Encased in a crystal of enigma. Serene, silent, peaceful.

Behind her, he saw several other figures - Gabrielle Delacour, Luna, and Iris Potter. The others had already gotten to the hostages already, if not already finished (though that was admittedly unlikely with the little stunt he'd just pulled). Ron smiled as he drew his wand and a red, straight beam of light about three feet long emerged from the tip of his wand with a familiar humming sound.

As a schoolkid, Ron had thought Hermione was crazy for studying a subject as boring as arithmancy. However - after he started crashing with Harry after his divorce and becoming better acquainted with Muggle culture - he realized he'd been missing out. One day, Harry had challenged him to a swordfight, and pulled this move. A move that he was sure he'd watched in a documentary about a tale that occurred a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away…

The lightsaber spell was in fact nothing more than a modified cutting curse. The cutting curse was a beam of light that flew from the tip of one's wand. It wasn't too difficult to capture this beam of light and make it focused in one place, and changing the color. Although it did put a constant drain on one's magic, the cutting curse was a very simple household spell from long ago and could be used with minimal effort. Although, if Ron wanted it to be more potent, he could replace the modified cutting curse with a modified _Sectumsempra_.

He used his lightsaber to saw through Katie's restraints. The mermen were fascinated enough by his makeshift tool not to interfere, for which Ron was grateful. As soon as her wrist and ankle bindings were gone, Ron transfigured his weights into balloons, which allowed him and Katie to flow back up with minimal effort. By this time, Ron's whirlpool had disappeared.

He broke the surface, closely followed by Katie, who moaned. Ron looked at her, treading water and taking care to keep her nose and mouth away from the lake. It took her a moment to readjust, before she finally realized where she was.

"Ron?" She coughed, sounding confused.

"It's alright," Ron smiled at her as she blinked away the last of her drowsiness. "We're in the lake. Or on the surface of it. I just need to bring you back to the tent, over there." He pointed at a massive yellow-and-red carnival style tent.

"Oh," Katie said. "Okay."

Ron transfigured the balloons into a lifeboat - the concepts between the two were similar enough. He helped Katie on and tried to get on himself only for the boat to capsize (Katie laughed until she too went under). They tried again, this time clambering on from both sides at the same time so that the boat was balanced. They managed, and Ron began to paddle using his hands.

"Isn't there a better solution to this?" Katie asked with a slight smile.

"I don't see you contributing," Ron growled, furiously splashing at the water but not making much progress.

"Think about how much we weigh," Katie said, raising a finger. "Between you, me, and the boat, I'd say we weigh about three hundred pounds at most."

"What's your point?"

"Well, that boulder over there, I'd say weighs more than a hundred of us," Katie said, pointing to a large, weathered rock at the edge of the lake, conveniently located next to the spectators. "Which means it could be used as an anchor. Right?"

It took Ron a moment to get at what she was saying. He grinned. "You're a genius, Katherine," Ron said, before pointing his wand at the rock.

"I'm pretty average," Katie muttered. "You're just a bit of an idiot."

Ron rolled his eyes, placing a sticking charm on the back of his legs and firmly gluing himself to the boat. He repeated the process for Katie, then pointed his wand at the boulder. "_Accio_ big rock," Ron intoned.

The boat rocketed towards the boulder.

Ron could barely breathe and he was certain he had just managed to accelerate as fast as the wildest roller-coasters with nothing but magical glue keeping his bottom on the boat. Indeed, the boat eventually flipped rather haphazardly in the air and smashing Katie's and Ron's faces into the water several times before deciding it should just sail through the air instead. It was only fortunate that there was a decent distance between their starting point and the rock before they realized the elephant in the room.

They were going to crash into a boulder.

Ron paused his spell immediately and the boat went tumbling heads over tails across the surface. He probably should've realized to underpower the summoning spell severely. Katie, sopping wet, crossed her arms over her chest and snorted. While it was kind of cute, Ron could probably expect some of the twins' products in his dinner later on.

"In third place is Ronald Weasley!" Bagman cried, and the crowd cheered. Ron and Katie, both rather miserable and feeling rather sick, staggered back to Pomfrey, where she quickly accosted him and reprimanded him on one thing or another.

"Really, is that how you treat a lady?" Pomfrey rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "I didn't realize Miss Bell enjoyed simulating a broom crash, but I suppose it's possible seeing how often she tends to come into the hospital wing for _those_."

"I don't enjoy them, Madam Pomfrey," Katie rolled her eyes back at her. "It's just that I can never resist your wonderful bed service."

It turned out the other two who'd gotten to the finish before Ron, was Harry and Viktor. Since Viktor had been well out of range when Ron pulled his little stunt, he'd been unaffected and finished first. Harry was able to get out of the whirlpool through sheer luck, it seemed - not that he was particularly grateful for that. Ron had only managed to beat out Cedric because of his trick with the summoning spell at the end; lo and behold, Cedric and Cho dragged himself onto the shore just as he was processing that fact.

Ten minutes later, Sirius arrived with Luna in tow, the latter of whom seemed to not mind being sopping wet and cold at all, instead humming a tune through blue lips and linking her hand with Sirius' as if it were no big deal at all. Wouldn't that be a headline? Ron snickered, and a hateful glare from Sirius was directed his way.

"What the bloody hell was that for?" Was the only thing Jim said to him, when he washed up.

Fleur was in hysterics again, not having managed to rescue her sister after being swarmed by grindylows once more. Harry volunteered to go rescue her, since he had 'the most efficient method of retrieving underwater sleeping beauties, at least until a certain formerly ginger fuck ruined it for everyone', and came back ten minutes later with a dazed and confused Gabrielle in tow. Fleur thanked him plenty enough, and Ron suspected Harry would be on the receiving end of Fleur's intimate attention later on.

"Time for scores," Katie said eventually. "I hope you lose ten points for what you did to me at the end."

Ron simply grinned and went to receive his scores. He didn't lose ten points, actually, just six. Four lost from Karkaroff, one from Maxime, and one from Percy. Otherwise, he got full points; forty-four points. He was in the running again.

That night, Ron was carted into the hospital wing by an exasperated Hermione after he bragged too much about his victory to Harry and Sirius in the Gryffindor common room. Katie didn't really help him either, Ron recalled in his hospital bed.

* * *

"Why would you want me to learn that?"

Jim was horrified. It wasn't a real rat. Just a transfigured one, he knew that, and he wasn't so naive as to think an artificial mimicry of life was the same thing as a living, breathing animal. But what he saw scared him. The horrified, agonized shriek that the thing raised, which Jim didn't even think the animal was capable of creating, was burned into his memory like a cattle brand.

"Dumbledore wouldn't approve," Jim said, his eyes still unable to tear themselves off the rat, whose limbs flopped uselessly and skull looked like jelly after all its bones were pulverized into dust, struggling on the floor of the Chamber of Secrets. Harry ended the transfigured creature, returning it to a simple block of sandstone.

"Dumbledore wouldn't approve," Harry agreed. "Dumbledore doesn't believe in pain or murder. Better to have the moral high ground - or so he thinks. But guess what? If Moody hasn't drilled it into you already, here's a tip; if you're fighting fair, you're fighting wrong."

"I'm not going to use such a dark curse," Jim said through ground teeth, his nails digging into his palms.

Harry was a peculiar man, but one that Jim respected. When so many others acted so patronizingly to Jim, thinking him to be an inexperienced child of limited mental processes, one whose thinking Dumbledore did for him, Harry would test him, ask him obscure questions with equally obscure answers and wait for him to answer, apparently expecting a brilliant mind in Jim's skull. Jim knew that, with his grades only barely above average and truly only excelling in the subject of Defense, he was being flattered, but that flattery worked. It helped Jim - for lack of a better term - with his self-esteem.

But this was too much.

"Oh?" Harry's raised eyebrow turned on him. "Would you say, for example, _Wingardium leviosa_, is a dark spell?"

"No?" Jim answered, confused by the sudden change in topic.

"Observe," Harry said, raising his wand. "_Wingardium leviosa_," he intoned, and Jim felt his body float slightly over the ground. It ended quickly enough and Jim landed on his feet. Harry then transfigured the sandstone debris into a human cranium. The polished, white exterior made Jim's hair stand on end. Harry pointed his wand at the skull.

"_Wingardium leviosa_."

The skull rocketed upward at such a speed that Jim almost cracked his neck looking up. There, at the very high ceiling of this mysterious chamber, the object shattered into an undiscernable number of pieces against the much more durable stone. Harry tucked his wand away as bone fragments showered around them, and Jim was momentarily thankful that he wasn't splattered in gore as well.

"Jim, there's no such thing as a dark spell," Harry said quietly. His voice was interrupted occasionally by the clinking of a particularly large - but definitely not large enough - piece of bone clattering onto the floor. "There is dark magic, yes, but no individual spell can be dark. Any and all magic can be weaponized."

"But you're still telling me to go into dark magic," Jim argued. "You're telling me to intentionally weaponize my magic to hurt other people."

"Perhaps," Harry hummed. "But most Death Eaters will be more than willing to use this dark magic."

"So I should fight fire with fire?" Jim said bitterly.

"Jim, these people don't deserve to live," Harry said firmly, looking him in the eye. "You know most people who joined with Voldemort in the first war, were criminals of opportunity? Looters, thieves, burglars, they all joined up because if they did their business would start booming. The houses they raided - what did the Dark Lord care if they took their victims' possessions? And that's only the good side. Others were worse."

Harry leaned into Jim's face. "Some of the sickest Death Eaters - which, frankly, was most of them - they liked to use their victims before they died. Some liked little girls like your sisters. Twisted little fucks taking pleasure in soiling the most innocent victims of all - children. Others, well, some of the others preferred little girls like your sisters, but only if they were already dead."

Jim swallowed harshly, but his mouth was mostly dry. Harry spoke, his consonants guttural and his tone flat, his eyes narrowed in overwhelming hatred, and Jim didn't like this side of his friend. Up until now, Harry laughed easily, smiled easily, joked easily. Played pranks on other people, helped Neville with potions and never made fun of other people's weaknesses. Now, though?

"Doesn't it make you angry?" Harry whispered enticingly, but his eyes were hard and dull. "There's nothing wrong with ending their miserable existences. They're parasites of society. It's better to remove them while there's still that chance."

"And who the fuck am I to bring judgment upon people?" Jim snarled. "What gives me the right to choose who deserves to live? What gives _you_ that right?"

Harry laughed humorlessly. "If it's not the Boy-Who-Lived, then who is it going to be? Voldemort?" Harry smiled with all teeth. "Would you rather pass that title onto the worst person imaginable? Or maybe you believe in a higher power? God? Multiple gods?"

"I don't," Jim said warily.

"Dead men don't rape little girls, James," Harry said, and for a moment, Jim felt his scar burn as if he were staring into Quirrel's soul.

It was probably the most animalistic part of his brain, the reptilian portion of it, charged with conducting the most basic of functions - breathing, pumping blood, eating, _living_ \- that was advising him to run. If the increased heart-rate, the cold sweat, and the claustrophobic feeling despite the massive open space was any indication. But Jim was a Gryffindor, and Gryffindors were generally known for their tendency to pick the wrong option when presented with fight or flight.

"And you think you have the right to judge upon others?" Jim growled. "The first time you told me about you, Harry, I thought you were my savior. Someone I can trust completely, willing to give me training better than the Aurors? Prepare me for Voldemort? I was relieved, Harry. But now I don't think like that anymore. You're not training me to be Voldemort's archenemy. You're training me to be Voldemort's predator. You're just... trying to make a bigger fish than the Dark Lord, but in the same pond."

Harry snarled. "Why the hell are you being choosy about methods to defeat Voldemort?"

"Maybe…" Jim hesitated. He knew he was being stupid, all of his senses were screaming at him to stop now. But his mouth was running on autopilot, and through all the adrenaline, fear was a distant thing. "Maybe this is exactly why you hate your life."

Harry went still. Absolutely still. His face was blank, devoid of all emotion, and both rage and hatred he'd seen before were completely gone. However, that didn't stop Harry's fists from shaking slightly, his knuckles white with tension.

"_Maybe this is why you hate yourself_."

Jim felt the distinct sensation of accelerating very rapidly, his internal gyroscope becoming confused, and hitting a very hard surface. He blinked and was then greeted with a blooming sensation of pain on his jaw. He groggily raised his eyes to Harry, who stood above him, hands clenched into fists and his left-hand knuckles spotted with some blood.

"Feel better now?" Jim mocked, against his better judgment. "You know, I think you're getting a little confused about your goals. You don't care about us being alive. You only care about Voldemort being dead."

"No," Harry breathed, then snarled. "You don't know anything about me! You've lived with parents. Siblings. You've had a family to love you since you were born. I didn't have any of that. All because that - that _bastard_ \- stole them away from me."

"But you have them now?" Jim smirked, his lip burning in pain as he did so.

"You didn't lose them once before!" Harry roared, making Jim flinch. "You've never seen your friends laid out on the Great Hall covered in white sheets. For someone who's literally me, it's surprising to realize that _you don't know anything about me_!"

Jim watched Harry turn around and walk woodenly out of the Chamber. The indignant, stiff gait told Jim that it was probably for the best for him to avoid his twin in the near future. Jim sighed and waited until well after the stone doors closed to stand up and dust the back of his robes.

It probably wasn't the best idea for him to speak to Ron at the moment either, Jim decided. They were much in the same situation. While Ronald seemed to be rather insightful about the follies of his youth, he was still as much of an alcoholic and a purposeless loner as Harry was.

They'd traveled back in time and space to find their long-dead friends, but strangely, Jim thought, they were still very lonely men.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

"For the last time, Sirius," Harry spoke with clenched fists. "You're not coming."

"You really don't know what you're getting into," Ron agreed, slightly more mild-mannered.

Sirius growled in such a way that for a moment he sounded more like his animal counterpart than human. He stood at his bed in his room, while Harry stood across the room and Ron sat on his bed. While Ron's eyes shifted between Harry and Sirius, the latter two's gazes were locked onto each other.

"I'll admit you're both better than I am," Sirius said slowly. "But you're still not going to be able to take on the Dark Lord."

"I could probably take on the Dark Lord on my own," Harry growled in reply. "Did you think that Voldemort was the last Dark Lord? Voldemort was one of the stronger, I admit, especially after he did all those power-enhancing rituals. But guess what? I've fought worse than him. I fought a necromancer in Mexico with a literal army of undead. I've fought a dark shaman who allowed his body to become a vessel for the Devil. My _job_ is to kill Dark Lords, Sirius. _Your _job was to catch part-time crooks and you got your arse landed in prison before you even completed training."

Sirius took a step forward. "Don't you dare speak to me that way. How was it my fault that I was dumped in prison?"

"Because you went to chase after Wormtail instead of doing the rational thing and keeping me safe!" Harry shouted.

"I didn't do that!" Sirius roared back. "Your version of Sirius might have, Harry. But I never committed any crime, and you have no right to make me your verbal punching bag because you, for some reason, keep hanging on to the past you claim you want to forget!"

Sirius took a deep breath as Harry shook in silent rage. "What the hell is wrong with you? Why are you so obsessed with Voldemort?" Ron shifted uncomfortably on his bed as Harry only glared. "I spoke to your mother, Harry. She mentioned that you had a very casual attitude to murder and that it frightened her, if only for a moment. You might have made good with Lily, but you've never really abandoned your old ways, have you?"

"Voldemort is a source of plague," Harry hissed. "Why should I not exterminate it?"

"You know, James Junior spoke to me the other day as well," Sirius continued, eyes dark. "Said you were actively encouraging him to use dark magic. The kind of magic that makes you feel dirty."

"Of course he spoke to you," Harry laughed coldly. "What did he say? That I was going to become the next Dark Lord?"

"No," Sirius answered quietly. "He said - and I agree with him - that you're so deeply rooted in vigilantism you don't realize all you are is a casual murderer. That you convince yourself you're not as bad as Voldemort based on the minor distinction between you and Voldemort - the latter had followers."

"I don't believe in magical supremacy," Harry said quietly. The room reeked of ozone. "I don't believe in pureblood dogma. I'm nothing like Voldemort."

"But you share one thing with Voldemort," Sirius said, his voice rising. "You both believe in _pain_."

Harry snarled but was immediately immobilized by Ron, who was watching bewildered. "You know how you socked Jimmy in the jaw? That was proof enough of my statement," Sirius said darkly. "You believe in pain and fear as a method of population control. And that is exactly what Voldemort did, and that is what everyone suffered from."

"Sirius…" Ron said warningly.

"And the only reason you want to fight Voldemort is to bring him _pain_," Sirius said, leaning into Harry's face, immobilized in an expression of wrath. "Not because you care about your mother, or your sisters, or for me, even. Jim was right, Harry. You don't care about helping us. All you want is to destroy Voldemort's future and rub it in his face."

It was only after Sirius closed the door quietly behind him, exiting the room, that Ron allowed Harry to move again. Harry stumbled, having been frozen in a position where he was leaning heavily forward - likely in an attempt to attack Sirius as he had with Jim. Harry glared at his best friend, who only shrugged.

"What do you think, then?" Harry asked, after taking several minutes to cool down.

"He's got a point, mate," Ron shrugged casually. He'd seen his friend through his best and worst; this didn't frighten him. "Maybe you should take a step back and look at the big picture."

"What's the big picture?" Harry asked snidely.

Ron didn't react. "How the hell should I know? This is your problem, not mine."

Harry took a deep breath. "Just, just _how_ am I supposed to act towards a man - a thing - that killed my parents and plenty of my friends? How am I supposed to feel towards a man like that?"

"I think that's what they want you to find out," Ron said with a reassuring smile on his face. "You've worked hard so far, Harry. Let me do this for you, and you're going to relax for a bit, yeah?"

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

"I'll take out Voldemort at the graveyard," Ron replied, and Harry gawped. "Stop looking at me like that. I've been a UFO for as long as you have. I have almost the same power and skill that you do."

"But-"

"Do you trust me, Harry?" Ron said, smiling at him. "How long have we worked together? How long have I had your back?"

"Of course I trust you, mate," Harry said. "But-"

"Then let me hold your back one more time," Ron said seriously. He grinned. Harry hesitantly grinned back. "Well, in that case, I better go shopping. Can I have some money?"

"Prick," Harry laughed, throwing his vault key harder at him than was really needed.

* * *

"Ron?"

Katie found her boyfriend standing before the fire in the Gryffindor common room. She herself had only gotten up because she wasn't able to sleep, wondering if Ron - and also Sirius, Jim and Harry - were going to get hurt at all. It seemed Ron was facing the same problem, because he usually slept like a stone.

"Katie," Ron replied lowly, turned around. In the darkened room, Ron looked like a stranger, his familiar features contorted by the shadows. Only his ice-blue eyes had any splash of color in his face. He looked… otherworldly. Ethereal. As if he landed from a different time and place.

"Nervous?" Katie asked, forcing her tone to be light.

"Very," Ron answered. He looked back into the fire where, Katie noticed, was a gleam of gold. Katie shuffled closer to him in her fluffy pink slippers. It didn't do as much to warm Katie's often noticeably cold feet, but it felt much better to not have to feel the chill of the stone tiles on the stairs and bathroom floors.

"What's - is that a ring?" Katie asked, squinting her eyes and the gold object. In doing so, she bumped Ron accidentally. She turned her head, prepared to apologize, but words were caught in her throat and her eyes widened.

While Ron had always been tall, taller than her, she'd never seen him to be so imposing. But here he was. Plagued by shadow, he was a completely different human being. Katie did not know if this was a trick of her mind, of her drowsy, nightmare-addled mind, or some sort of ominous foreshadowing, the kind that Trelawney was supposed to be able to see.

He smiled, but the shadows made it more of a feral grin. "It is a ring," Ron agreed quietly, and Katie sighed in relief that his voice, at least, was still friendly and normal.

"Sorry for bumping into you, by the way," she touched Ron's arm, and her eyes widened. "Is… is this dragonhide? It's incredibly good quality, too. You're definitely not holding back for the third task of the Showdown, huh?"

"More like the bonus round, actually," Ron smiled painfully. "Hey…"

"Yeah?"

"This is for you," he said, holding out an envelope with her name written in his spiky letters. Katie moved to open it, but his fingers crushed her own in a powerful grip. "Not now. Open it… if something happens to me."

"Don't be like that, Ron," Katie laughed, though the laughter was higher-pitched than usual and contained a healthy dose of alarm. "What could possibly happen to you? Why, is the information in it important? Spy documents?"

"No, nothing of the sort," Ron laughed, though this wasn't forced, and it melted Katie's tension slightly. "If I come out the other side okay, then it's unimportant. You can burn it."

"Right," Katie said, but was startled by Ron summoning the ring into his hand. "Wait, you'll burn yourself…"

Ron fiddled with the golden ring. "It's not hot. See?" And it wasn't. Katie had a feeling she recognized it, and that sense of familiarity only increased as the fire-red lettering both along the inside and outside of the ring flashed briefly. "I thought you might recognize it, considering you're Muggle-born."

"The One Ring?" Katie asked, interested. She plucked the ring from her fingers.

"Indeed," Ron smiled. "_One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them_."

"_One Ring to bring them all, and in the darkness bind them_," Katie finished in a whisper.

"Didn't realize you were a Tolkien nut," Ron chuckled. "But yes. This is the One Ring. Which thankfully sounds much more ominous than One of Two Rings, because that's how many Harry and I planned to make before we realized it was a complete bitch to build."

"What does it do?" Katie asked.

"What do you think it does?" Ron said dryly.

"Make you addicted to its very existence and turn you into a withered husk of a living creature after prolonged use?" Katie guessed back, just as dryly.

Ron smirked evilly. "Among other things."

Katie blinked, unsure of whether he was joking or not. She decided he was, and silence reigned. Dragonhide everything, supposedly a very powerful ring. Katie saw a strange outline and gave it an experimental pat. She gasped when she felt cold steel forged into a peculiar shape.

"Ron, is that a gun?"

"Indeed," Ron grinned twisting it in his hand like some Wild West gunman. "It's not loaded. Not now, anyway. I don't really like using this. I much rather prefer my old 9mm Beretta, but I need something that packs more punch. And how much more punch can you get than from a .44?"

"What do you plan on doing with it?" Katie asked, somewhat nervous.

"Shooting things," Ron said dryly.

"Ron, seriously. You could get in a lot of trouble carrying that in a school," Katie said nervously. "Especially in a magical school where many people are convinced that Muggle weapons are barbaric."

"Nobody will notice once I'm wearing my cloak," Ron shrugged. "Don't worry, Katie. You didn't want me to get hurt? Well, that's my secret weapon."

"Right," Katie said, though she was still unsure.

"You'd best be going back to bed," Ron said softly, giving her a kiss on her cheek. It was warm and tingly where his lips made contact - it was just as special as the first time. "Get some rest. I don't want you missing my big day because you overslept."

Katie felt a smile dominating her face as she whacked Ron's arm. "Same could be said for you, you prat."

"It could, couldn't it?" Ron grinned. "Goodnight, Katie. Sweet dreams."

"Goodnight," Katie replied softly. Ron disappeared up the stairs to the boys' dormitory. After a minute, she too went to bed.

* * *

Jim's heart was pounding in his chest. Hammering, was more like it, as if banging on the bars of its cell, begging to be let out. Jim didn't blame it; the amount of dread he felt pooling in his chest could not be healthy.

"Jimothy, a word?"

Jim turned to the source of the voice with an irritated scowl on his face. That, however, turned into cool indifference when he saw Harry. Harry smiled awkwardly, as if wondering at the same time if a smile was really appropriate for this meeting. The two of them had been mutually avoiding each other for the past month, after all.

"What do you want?"

"There's no easy way to say this," Harry sighed, running his hand through his hair. Jim hated that there were so many behavioral similarities between him and this… beast. "You can't win."

"I didn't peg you for the type of gloat," Jim said, confused.

"Well, no. It's not gloating. It's a warning." Harry's face turned dark. "I'm not entirely sure what will happen when you win, but…"

"This is a pathetic attempt at manipulation, Harry," Jim snorted. "Give me a little more credit. I'm not that stupid."

"Well," Harry breathed noisily out of his nose. "Just… don't touch the cup. The trophy, I mean."

Jim didn't really have time to ponder his pseudo-twin's weirder than usual behavior before Bagman stepped forward with a massive grin and a glint of mischief in his eyes. "Welcome, champions, to the final task of the Septawizard Showdown. The last event, as you might already be able to tell, is a maze."

When Jim saw some of the vines making up the hedge twist in a manner that resembled a human beckoning to come to them, his stomach decided to mimic the movement and make him feel very sick. He already didn't like this event.

"The rules will be as follows. You are permitted to do everything in your power - except seriously maim your competitors, of course! - to try and reach the center of the maze, where there will be a trophy-turned-portkey that will safely land you in front of the podium. You will all be released into the maze according to your scores; the highest scoring person starts, the second-highest fifteen seconds after that, and so on."

If Jim recalled correctly, Viktor would be starting first, then himself. Harry, Ron and Sirius had not scored terribly well in either of the previous two events, though part of that could be blamed on Maxime and especially Karkaroff's bias.

Jim clutched his wand tightly, gripping it harder than Ollivander would approve. He stared at the maze, waiting for something to screw up. It would be just like first and second year, wouldn't it? Something would probably jump out of the maze and eat him. Hermione had referred once to something called Murphy's Law. Whatever can go wrong, will go wrong - and if your name is Jim Potter, in the most disastrous way possible.

"And James Potter Junior, our third contestant! Your time begins…"

Jim swallowed.

"Now!"

Jim ran. The first fork he approached, he went to the left without hesitation, although honestly there was really no reason for it. Then he turned right, right again. He had no real plan except to try and get closer to the center, one turn at a time.

"Point me," Jim breathed, and his wand spun in his palm to eventually settle on pointing to his left. He turned left again, and stopped.

Oh, Merlin. The loose black cloak, the black cowl that completely submerged the creature's face in shadow. The high-pitched, ear-piercing scream of hatred, and the sensation of depression violently pushing out any other emotion he might have felt. A dementor. Of course they'd put a dementor in here.

"_Expecto patronum_!"

A silvery mist burst from his wand and the dementor recoiled slightly, but it didn't seem to be harmed. Jim took a deep breath, composing whatever was left of his mind. "_Expecto patronum_!" This time, the mist coalesced into a shimmering stag, a massive beast with a vengeance. The stag reared its front legs and charged at the dementor. The dementor gave out what was likely surprise and shock, but nothing along the lines of pain or fear. That means-

"_Riddikulus_!"

The dementor popped away and retreated to wherever it had been hiding before. Jim charged past, glancing at his Patronus thankfully. The warmth and serenity radiated by the now gentle beast was extremely helpful in his situation.

The rounded several more bends until he encountered some sort of pink mist. He immediately stumbled back, barely avoiding it, landing on his backside. There was no way in hell he would walk through that. It was probably going to cause him a lot of problems. Maybe something like that 'pepper spray' Ron was talking about, which Muggle police used on criminals.

He instead moved onto the next left turn. This time, though, he was greeted with an abominable mixture of a crab and scorpion. Hagrid's damnable blast-ended skrewts. Jim ground his teeth so hard they felt like they would crack, as he raised his wand and sent a banishing charm at the beast. Ron had taught him how to deal with one, in the period when Harry refused to train with Jim. Flip the thing over, and much like an insect, the soft underbelly would be easier to damage.

The skrewt shrieked as Jim sent a _bombarda_ at the beast's belly. He felt mildly sick, but honestly, it wasn't as if he had a choice. If the numerous burns that Hagrid was recently sporting were any indication, the skrewts were ridiculously aggressive and would attack anything that moved. Jim repeated the gruesome process with another one of the skrewt's fellows and pushed through.

"Point me."

The wand was pointing straight ahead, now. How long had he been in this maze? Fifteen minutes, maybe twenty. The sky was darkening and Jim didn't like it. He paused, however, when he heard a feminine scream off to his right.

"Take him out, Sirius!" Harry's voice was faint, but Jim could detect the panic.

There were the sounds of explosions and shouting, before it went silent and a salvo of red sparks lit the sky. It was undoubtedly Fleur who had screamed, but Harry had said, 'take _him_ out'. Who was it? Viktor, Ron or Cedric? Not a single one of them seemed like the type to attack their competitors; despite his headmaster, Viktor valued fairness, perhaps as a result of his being a professional sportsman. Cedric was simply too kind to do anything, and Ron would know better than to attack his best friend's girlfriend.

Jim charged on through. He was too far to be of any help to them. He continued towards the center of the maze. It was in sight, now… and he turned a corner, coming face to face with a human-faced lion. The woman's face was admittedly attractive. The dark skin was smooth and looked well-maintained, and the full lips, thin nose, neat eyebrows…

"Greetings, traveler," the sphinx smiled. "If you wish to pass, you must answer my riddle correctly."

"Alright then," Jim blinked. "How many guesses do I get?"

She smiled, but it wasn't as pleasant a smile as one might be expected to believe. "Just one."

"...okay," Jim took a breath. "Ask me."

"_First think of the person who lives in disguise,_

_Who deals in secrets and tells naught but lies._

_Next, tell me what's always the last thing to mend_

_The middle of middle and end of the end?_

_And finally give me the sound often heard,_

_During the search for a hard-to-find word._

_Now string them together and answer me this,_

_Which creature would you be unwilling to kiss?_"

Jim hummed and clasped his hands behind his back. "Hermione would be loving this," he murmured to himself. "The person who lives in disguise… tells naught but lies…"

What could that possibly be? What kind of people lived in disguise? The kind of people that weren't allowed to be found. Fugitives, like Sirius? He had his dog-disguise and, now, his younger-self disguise. But no, he didn't tell lies… or they need to live in disguise because they're dealing with important secrets?

"A spy," Jim murmured to himself. And the next part was easy enough. Middle of middle and end of end. The letter _d_. "Spyd," Jim murmured. And what was the last part? A _sound_… so it wasn't a word. It was the sound one made when they wanted to say something but were drawing a blank. "Um," Jim said, and his eyes widened. "Um! That's it! The answer is _spydum_! I've never heard of a creature like that, though."

The sphinx covered her face with one massive paw. "That's so pitiful that I'm going to give you another guess."

Jim blushed as he realized. "The answer is _spider_," he muttered, and the sphinx rolled her eyes before moving to the side. Jim mumbled a thanks before rushing past her, his face burning red, and calibrated his movement using the _point me_ spell once more.

He felt himself getting close. He could see the roof of the pavilion in which the trophy was housed. He charged through and skidded to a halt as he encountered Ginny's worst nightmare - an acromantula. Jim shrieked as the giant spider lunged at him, and sent banishing spells in its direction. The spider was tossed over onto the other side of the hedge, where he heard someone curse loudly. Well, someone else's problem now.

He ran.

He stopped, breathing heavily, as he reached the pavilion. The Triwizard Cup was sitting on a marble dais, leaking light and warmth. Jim was mesmerized, and he dragged his feet to the cup as if in a trance. If he wasn't as exhausted as he was right now, he might have been suspicious of the slight euphoric sensation he could feel like the time he spent under the Imperius curse.

He was snapped out of his trance by an explosion, and the sound of Harry cursing with language that would make Moody blush. "Where the bloody hell is that ginger prick?" Harry was muttering, before he realized that Jim was there. There was an expression of surprise on both faces, and for a moment they just stared at each other.

Jim ran at the cup.

Harry did too, although he seemed to be running more towards Jim himself. Harry was faster, and he tackled Jim away from the cup. Jim snarled. His irritation for Harry mingled with the minor compulsion from the cup and formed a potent cocktail of _want_. He knew that Harry would beat him in both a magical duel and a physical one. There was no escaping him.

"I'm here!" Ron shouted, and Jim saw him running towards the cup from the opposite direction. He snarled as Ron began to climb up the steps to the trophy. Like hell he'd just let the Starks win!

"_Accio cup!_"

"No!" Both Ron and Harry shouted, as Jim firmly grasped the handle of the cup, despite Harry's weak effort to swat it away. Then, Jim felt the sensation of his body being squeezed through a tube, and the world went black.

* * *

Jim groaned.

This wasn't the podium, he thought to himself. Instead, something along the lines of a graveyard. Suitably spooky, Jim thought sarcastically. Several steps to his right, Harry lay unmoving on the dead grass. The sky was darkening, the last wisps of deep, red light streaming through the clouds.

Jim yelped as vines covered a gravestone began to curl around his body. He reached for his wand, only for the vines to intercept his wrist, curl around it like a corkscrew, pulling his arm back. He was slowly dragged to a large headstone and pinned to it, his arms and legs bound. He grit his teeth and surveyed the scene.

"I'm sorry, Mister Potter," a familiar voice said. Jim paused. He wasn't really able to place the owner of the voice, though he knew he'd heard it before. "This is nothing personal. If you were a little luckier, you might be in the spectator's seats instead of Neville Longbottom."

"What - what are you talking about?" Jim growled.

"It doesn't matter. It's not as if you'll leave this place alive to ponder on it," the voice replied, mocking.

"_Kill the spare_."

The voice was definitely more recognizable. Though it was guttural and pained, Jim could tell exactly who it belonged to. His blood ran cold. The hooded stranger raised their wand and whispered; a bolt of green light sped towards Harry, and struck his side. Harry still did not move.

"Harry!" Jim screamed.

"Harry?" The stranger mused. "You tied with Harry Stark, then? Good riddance to the troublemaker."

"_Do it._"

"Yes, master," the figure murmured reverently, but only because they were so close to Jim, could Jim make out the faint sarcasm in the voice. They dropped a single old bone into the massive cauldron behind them. "Bones of the father, unwillingly given."

Then, Jim winced as the figure raised a knife and hacked through their own right hand. "Flesh of the servant, willingly given," the figure grunted, definitely struggling with the pain as they sawed through the bone. Then, when that was completed, the hooded figure turned to Jim. "Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken."

It was only until the figure approached Jim and pricked him with the knife in his arm that Jim realized who it was. When he cried out with pain, he got the faint whiff of incense underlaid with sherry. A smell he hadn't smelled for some time, considering he dropped the class, but a smell that was certainly unique to one person he knew.

"Professor Trelawney?" Jim breathed.

"I've been found out," Trelawney chuckled, in a husky voice that he could not imagine coming from the batty woman. "Doesn't change anything, Jim. You die here tonight."

"No."

Trelawney ducked as a red stunning spell whizzed over her head. The woman snarled and rushed Harry with agility that Jim did not expect, and a killing intent that made his hair stand on end. Harry stood in a dueling stance and shot off spell after spell, all silently and with minimal movement. Jim was impressed by the sheer speed at which Harry sent off spells, but somehow, the woman dodged them all.

"_Finish the ritual_."

"Yes, master," Trelawney growled, the irritability in her voice no longer hidden. Jim was impressed at the lack of respect in the woman's voice, if nothing else.

Trelawney ducked within Harry's immediate range and Jim was amazed by just how easily Harry gave up his wand. Sure, within a distance where fists could connect to jaws, wands were more of a liability than an advantage, but Jim was not certain he would be able to fight without one. Harry had no such hesitation; he retracted his wand into his wrist-holster and switched to martial arts.

Harry was fast without a wand also; though it might just be because of the rising darkness, their limbs were nothing more than blurs. Jim could also see how Harry attacked Trelawney's right, where her hand was missing. Trelawney, shockingly, was equally as fast - at least, judging by how she managed to block or dodge all of Harry's strikes thus far. A cripple with a knife versus a healthy but unarmed man; it was a fair duel in a very convoluted way.

Trelawney gasped as Harry's fist clipped her stump, and Harry grunted as the knife cut his shoulder. Somehow, though, Trelawney was too fast. She began to predict Harry's movements with ease, dodging the blows before they even came. Harry must have realized it, too, because he became more and more aggressive, likely with the intention of ending the fight as quickly as possible.

Trelawney made a mistake. She misjudged the distance of her lunge and stumbled. Harry's lips twisted into a cruel, satisfied smirk as he grabbed Trelawney's left wrist and jabbed his wand under her jaw. Jim could see a spell glowing with malicious light at the tip of Harry's wand, about to shower them in bits of Trelawney's cranial matter-

Trelawney dodged.

Trelawney kneed a shocked Harry in the gut, and using Harry's momentary surprise and opening in his defenses, stabbed him in the stomach. Harry gasped; Jim watched as his twin slumped to the ground. He didn't groan or moan. He made no noise, in fact, and Jim was worried for him. Trelawney did not stop to look at her handiwork before walking quickly back to collect more of Jim's blood.

Jim could hear her ragged breathing as she wiped the bloodied blade on her sleeve, then collected beads of dark red blood from Jim's arm. Jim glared at her with as much disgust as he could muster, but when Trelawney noticed, she only gave a smug, if tired, smile. She returned to the cauldron whereupon she allowed several drops of Jim's blood to fall.

"The Dark Lord shall rise again," she murmured.

The cauldron howled as tongues of flame rose towards the sky. Jim wanted to shield his eyes from the putrid, smoky flames, but he was bound and had no other option than to clench his eyes shut. When he felt the heat bleed away, he was greeted with the sight of a reptilian creature, tall, pale and patterned with the outlines of scales.

"Robe me."

Trelawney silently draped a robe over Voldemort, which he slipped his arms through. He also accepted the proffered wand. "Your arm, Sybill," Voldemort said softly. Trelawney did not speak as she proffered him her good arm, the one with the Dark Mark on it. Jim could hear a sharp intake of air through her teeth when Voldemort pressed the tip of his wand to the tattoo.

A series of cracks crescendoed before silence returned. Voldemort looked appraisingly at the masked, hooded figures standing in a ring around them. Voldemort let the silence stretch, until the silence gave way to tension, to the sensation of building pressure, until it was unbearable - and then, he broke it, with quiet, whispered words.

"Welcome, my… friends," he said. "Thirty years, it's been, yet all of you stand before me as if it were yesterday. I confess myself disappointed. Not one of you tried to find me."

He slashed with his wand, and Jim watched some of the masks peel off the Inner Circles' faces.

"Not even you, Lucius?"

"My Lord," Lucius murmured, kneeling. "Had I even been given a whisper of your whereabouts…"

"No matter," Voldemort said coldly, and Jim shivered. "Sybill has found me, with her scrying abilities. She may not be able to recall the very prophecy she spoke, but I suppose her abilities can still be useful. And while she has continued to disrespect me… she has proved her loyalty. The only one here to do so. Sybill, your wounded hand."

Trelawney held up her stump and Voldemort raised his hand. Slowly, a thread of quicksilver poured like nectar from the tip of his wand and began to settle onto Trelawney's stump, where it began to form into fingers. Trelawney gazed at her prosthetic hand briefly, before kneeling. "Thank you, master."

Voldemort turned to the unmoving body of Harry Stark, curled up into the fetal position. "Harry Stark," Voldemort mused. "I read about you, yes. A jokester, a liar, yet carrying such a powerful skillset. I can feel the magic coming off you. A transfer student who had no formal education before third year. Who are you, I wonder?"

"Don't touch him," Jim snarled. Voldemort's eyes slowly turned onto him.

"Ah, James. I forgot for a moment that you were even here!" Voldemort smiled mockingly. Jim stumbled as the vines holding him retreated. "The Boy-Who-Lived. Did you enjoy your life, James? Being hailed as a hero, everyone adoring you for something you don't even know you did? I hope you have, because this is the last stop."

Jim tightened the grip on his wand, his knuckles turning white.

"You're a false prophet, James. You never did have power, unless you count very good luck as a power." Voldemort raised his wand. "Perhaps, though, you might become a martyr, tonight. I presume you have been taught to duel, yes? First, we bow. Dumbledore wouldn't want you to display such awful manners! I said, _bow_."

Jim felt his spine being forcefully bent by the will of Voldemort's magic, and through the rage thundering in his ears, he could also faintly hear the Death Eaters' laughter.

"That's better," Voldemort said in a self-satisfied tone. "And now…"

Jim did not hear the incantation, but he knew instinctively that Voldemort had cast the Cruciatus curse. Jim screamed as every inch of his skin was pierced with razor-sharp needles, his blood turned into potent acid, and the breath in his lungs turned into mustard gas. He had no idea how long he was under the curse when he felt a falling sensation and came to his senses again.

"Good boy, James. Your parents would be proud, lasting under three seconds of the torture curse. After tonight nobody shall question my power. After tonight nobody shall talk of how you triumphed over the Dark Lord. After tonight they will only speak of how you begged for death, and I, being a merciful God, obliged. Get up."

Jim dragged himself onto his feet, and watched as Voldemort raised his wand, once again to cast - no, no, _please no_-

He was suddenly dropped onto the ground several steps away, by the feet of the ringed Death Eaters. Instead, where he should have been, was Harry, his face hard and his jaws straining. Voldemort raised a hairless eyebrow as Harry made not a peep, glaring at Voldemort, for one second, two… six seconds until he finally began to scream.

"I should be annoyed at you for interrupting my fun, but instead I am impressed," Voldemort said conversationally as Harry continued to scream and contort. "To be able to resist so much pain. Only I could have been more resistant to my own power, and I commend you."

Harry collapsed to the ground. Jim winced; Harry's eyes were blank and he drooled slightly. He had probably forgotten about the knife in his gut, too. "I will admit that perhaps, one day, you could become a worthy opponent for me," Voldemort continued, then his pleasant smile turned feral. "For that reason, I cannot permit you to live to become a threat to my reign."

Before Voldemort could cast the killing curse, however, he was interrupted by an explosion from behind him. Several Death Eaters screamed as they were struck unexpectedly as what Jim recognized from his training sessions with Harry as an overpowered _bombarda maxima_. Limbs and other extremities flew in various directions, and Jim watched in shock as a masked head sailed over them. Voldemort snarled, turning his back to Harry and facing the new threat. Jim realized that this figure, cloaked in black, was Ron Stark.

Harry began crawling towards Jim, as Voldemort began to duel with Ron, who had to keep up with all of the Death Eaters as well. The element of surprise was still there, but it was quickly wearing out. It said something about Ron's skill as a fighter that he was able to avoid Voldemort's incoming spells while taking out several Death Eaters on his way.

"Let me duel him!" Voldemort crowed. "To be able to have such a wonderful duel, mere minutes before my return! I never expected Dumbledore to be hiding such worthy enemies from me!"

At this command, the Death Eaters shuffled out of sight. Ron was good; very, very good. It was the kind of fighting that came from years upon years of experience, not just pure skill. Every single move was made without thinking. Ron was not calculating and planning; his movements were guided by muscle memory, each step a part in a well-practiced dance of death.

Voldemort, of course, was the same.

Voldemort was probably around sixty years old, though about fourteen years had been lost after his strange defeat to baby Jim. Ron was about fifty years old. They had about the same amount of combat experience, no doubt. But while Voldemort had always picked on weaker prey, Ron had plenty of experience dealing with big fish like necromancers. Perhaps Ron had an advantage-

Voldemort laughed as Ron struggled to keep a straight face. "Very good, my friend. I have no idea who you are, but you are good. It will be an honor to kill you!"

Voldemort was simply too powerful.

This was probably a result of Voldemort's natural magical power, as well as rituals he performed and the fact that Ron was trapped in a fifteen year-old's body while Voldemort had a custom body made for him. Voldemort was naturally very powerful, everyone said as much, and he'd further undertaken a series of ritual magic dubious in nature to increase the capacity of his magical core. Jim knew that back when they were Unspeakables, Ron and Harry (as well as all other operatives) were tattooed with a series of runes that made them more resistant to magic; if this were the case, their matchup might have been more favorable.

Ron mumbled something under his breath and disappeared. Jim's eyes widened; the cover was near-perfect, and he could only think of one other artifact that gave more complete invisibility. However, Voldemort laughed. "Snakes can see in the darkness," he hissed. "What makes you think you're hidden from me?" And a bolt of pale blue light splashed against something invisible.

Ron howled in pain and rage, reappearing to the rest of them, as his arm was struck with a blood-freezing curse. Jim's eyes widened when Ron's left arm - thankfully his off-hand - began to wither. Eventually, the blood would flow into his heart and freeze it, or worse, flow to his brain. Which was why Jim was amazed when he voluntarily stepped into the way of Voldemort's high-powered cutting curse and amputated his own left arm before the curse could spread.

Even Voldemort's eyes widened.

"I'm more and more impressed tonight," Voldemort mused as Ron vanished his arm completely and placed his shoulder in stasis as they fought. "You're in the same league as Harry Stark… which must mean, you're Ronald Stark. Isn't that right?"

"Fuck you," Ron hissed.

"Very eloquent," Voldemort said dryly. Ron threw another _bombarda_, which crashed into the soil in front of Riddle. The explosion curse blew up a sizable amount of dust and dirt into the air, and while Voldemort tried to seek Ron out, Ron sprinted to Harry and Jim. Voldemort's eyes narrowed in anger as he cast several killing curses in their direction. Harry was able to push Jim out of the way of one.

"_Accio cup_!" Ron shouted.

Voldemort's eyes widened. "No!"

Ron tackled Harry and Jim, wrapping his only arm around them both. When the glass trophy crashed into Ron's head, all three of them were teleported away from the graveyard, from the battlefield.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

"He's back! Professor Dumbledore, he's back…"

"Who's back, child?" Dumbledore asked, but his ashen expression seemed to imply that he knew very well who Jim was talking about.

"Voldemort. He's - he's been resurrected. Trelawney resurrected him."

"Sybill?" The old man's bushy eyebrows shot up into his hairline. "I never would have thought…"

"Jim? Ron, Harry?" It was Cedric's concerned voice. "What happened to you three?"

"He's back," Jim stammered. "Voldemort's back."

"...in the bloody blazes is this child going on about?" Fudge's unwelcome input.

"Get then to the hospital wing," Dumbledore ordered. Jim's eyesight was going fuzzy and dark. "It appears the thing we've been dreading most has happened, Cornelius. Voldemort has returned…"

* * *

The first thing Jim felt when he woke was numbness.

He tried to move his hands, but they did not respond. His attempts to regain control of his body became more fervent even while telling himself to calm down. He tried to raise his voice and nothing came out. No, this was a bad nightmare. He couldn't be dead. He thrashed and wailed…

"Oh, shut up," a familiar voice said irritably.

"You reckon he's come to, then?" Another familiar voice spoke sarcastically.

Jim snapped his eyes open and groggily turned his head to the side. He was tucked into pristine white sheets, according to the blurry image his non-bespectacled eyes gave him. Next to him, in identical white beds, lay Harry and Ron. Harry's midsection was wrapped in bandages until he looked like a grumpy snowman, while Ron had the same white bandages all over his shoulder.

"You've been drugged to the point you're higher than a Dutch cosmonaut," Harry explained. "I'm guessing you were shocked at not being able to move. Well, don't. You don't want to go against Pomfrey's instructions, anyway."

"Ron? Harry?" Jim spoke, his words slurred but no less panicked. "Are you both alright?"

"What does it look like?" Harry sniffed.

"Shut up, you bloody pansy," Ron taunted. "You were wearing a dragonhide vest just in case. The knife didn't even go that deep."

"You think anything that doesn't have an exit wound is 'pansy'," Harry growled. "Plus, abdominal injuries are the most painful. At least you can move your other arm without hurting all over. Everything I do, meanwhile, makes me hurt. Can't even sit up or lie down or even breathe without hurting like a bitch."

"Hey, Harry…" Jim hesitated. "You were hit by the killing curse."

"It missed," Harry said. "I was playing dead. I moved just enough that it would miss… a terrifying experience, by the way. Literally a hair's breadth away from death."

"You were playing dead?" Jim said incredulously. "And you didn't think to help me until the bitch stabbed me in the arm?"

"I couldn't have taken her by surprise until she had my back turned to me!" Harry huffed irritably. "She was one paranoid woman. Kept her eye on me the whole time, except when she went to collect her blood."

"Playing dead," Ron snorted to himself.

"Shut up. I was already weakened and didn't have the confidence to take on a full Inner Circle member rather than just Wormtail," Harry snarled, and cast an annoyed side-eye at Jim. "And, I was weakened. You know why? Because somehow, an acromantula literally fell on my head and bit me and I had to burn a lot of my magic to make sure I didn't die from the poison."

"Sorry," Jim mumbled.

"It's alright," Harry sighed. For a moment, nothing could be heard except the ticking of the grandfather clock. "I'm sorry you had to experience that. Ron was supposed to be the only one to go. We probably should've let you in on our plans."

"Yeah," Jim said, but there was no accusation in his voice.

"I think it's safe to say we all fucked up."

"Yeah." Jim pondered for a moment. "Ron, could you really have defeated Voldemort all by yourself?"

"No," Ron said honestly, surprising Jim. "Our plan didn't involve fighting Voldemort - just disabling whoever was doing the ritual so Voldemort couldn't be resurrected. It was just a big fuckup that you and Harry got teleported there instead of me, I guess. I was dressed for the occasion but neither of you were."

"Sorry," Jim mumbled again.

"Stop being sorry. It's not completely your fault, anyway. We deserve part of the blame," Harry said soothingly. Then he turned to Ron. "Do you think Voldemort is stronger in this dimension than our original one?"

"I was just thinking that, actually," Ron grimaced. "I thought I'd at least be on equal footing with him, even without all my UFO advantages. After all, we even switched the bones of his father with those from the next grave over, so he should have been weakened."

"I have a theory."

"Oh good, another one of your theories," Ron sighed and Harry rolled his eyes.

"In our original world, Voldemort was banished after encountering whatever magic was triggered by my mother's sacrifice," Harry spoke. "We still don't really know what kind of magic, but we do know it was ancient sacrificial magic and those are guaranteed to be powerful. In this world, however, Lily Evans is alive, meaning the same sacrificial magic was never invoked. Voldemort was still banished somehow, in some way we don't know of. However, he wasn't as gravely… injured, for lack of a better term."

"So you're saying he retained more of his power when he was banished than in our world," Ron said darkly, and Harry nodded once. "_Merlin_. I can see why everyone was so scared of him. We were really lucky, weren't we?"

"We were," Harry said shortly.

"If in his prime he was even more powerful…" Ron shuddered. "I hate to think how strong he would have been if he didn't split his soul and get turned into a ghost."

"Split his soul?" Jim interrupted.

Harry and Ron looked at each other, then sighed. "You may as well join this conversation too, Professor," Harry said.

Jim was about to ask what the hell they were talking about, when Dumbledore appeared out of thin air from behind a pillar. Usually, Dumbledore took pleasure on sneaking up on his students, but this time, his face was hard and cold. "My apologies," he said with a genuine smile that notified the three boys that his coldness was not directed at them. "So my suspicions were correct. Tom really did create Horcruxes… I was a fool to think that there were lines that even he would not cross."

"What are Horcruxes?" Jim asked.

"Horcruxes…" Dumbledore sighed, sitting on the foot of Jim's bed. "The process of creating a Horcrux involves some of the vilest magic we know of. It is, in summary, a soul-container; it is an object, usually of sentimental significance to the owner, that contains a piece of the owner's soul. The process of creating a Horcrux involves forcibly parting young women of their… ah, _purity_, then their life. Even after the ritual is complete, you would be subject to what most would perceive as a cursed half-life of sorts; when a piece of your soul is torn off, so is a piece of your humanity, and you would end up lacking in empathy, emotion and personality."

"Not that anyone who makes Horcruxes had an abundance of them before," Ron commented.

Dumbledore chuckled dryly. "You are correct, dear Ronald. If that is your true name."

"It is, actually," Ron said, though his eyes became tense. "At least the Ronald part of it is real."

"How much do you know?" Harry asked flatly.

"I didn't _know_ anything until I heard you talking about your 'original dimension'," Dumbledore said neutrally. "I had my suspicions. The two of you wouldn't be the strangest people I know - not even the first to come from a different dimension, if you will."

"Mm," Harry responded. "I'll tell you one thing, though, free of charge." His face turned cold. "We didn't come here so we could be dragged into your meddling."

Dumbledore's expression was pained, but only for a brief moment before he got it under control. "I assure you that I am not aiming to seek profit in any way," Dumbledore said, before adding, "excluding what I profit from a lack of a Dark Lord."

"Your assurances are always so vague," Harry sneered.

"I'll leave the three of you to continue your, I hope, speedy recovery," Dumbledore said, standing up. The hospital wing was completely silent for a long time. Jim wondered why Harry seemed to be so… aggressive against Dumbledore as soon as the latter admitted he knew of their identities. They had used to be best friends, as close to an equal relationship as a student and headmaster could have.

"How did you manage to lose against Trelawney?" Ron asked. "Surely she wasn't that much stronger than Wormtail. If I think about it, I've never actually seen her perform any magic worth mentioning."

"Ah," Harry's face darkened. "I agree, I don't think she's much stronger than Wormtail, _magically_. Her secret - well, it's not even a secret, honestly - lies in the subject that she teaches."

"Only the most useless subject," Jim snorted, thinking back to the beginning of the previous year, where he dropped Divination after a month of having his death predicted every single day.

"That's what I thought too," Harry said bitterly. "Until it seemed to me that she seemed to be able to _see my movements ahead of time_."

A stunned silence. "No way," Ron said, after a moment. "You're telling me she's divining what you'll do next."

"She was dodging my attacks before they even came," Harry growled. "Smug bitch. I realized that too late. I thought I had her, but she managed to stab me instead."

"How are you supposed to beat someone like that?" Jim swallowed. Divination would never be the same to him.

"Brute force," Harry said simply. "Even if you see it coming, you can only dodge if you're fast enough. Next time I see that bitch I'll just torch everything in a thirty-foot radius."

"Hey, Ron?" Jim asked hesitantly. Would this be a touchy subject? "How will it affect your fighting if you don't have an arm?"

"It's alright, Jim," Harry sniggered. "Ron's not completely '_armless_ yet."

Ron groaned and Jim smiled slightly. "I'm going to pretend you never said anything," Ron said matter-of-factly. "As for your question, I'll probably make myself a prosthetic like Trelawney's hand. That's the closest thing to a real limb I can think of."

"It's also a piece of incredibly dark magic," Pomfrey's voice carried over to them, as she brought over fresh bandages.

"Unfortunate, but I'd rather a silver hand than something as ridiculous as Moody's peg-leg," Ron replied.

"If you didn't vanish your arm, none of this would be a problem," Pomfrey said disapprovingly. "We're trained to reverse blood-freezing curses, you know, as well as many other types of tissue damage."

"I couldn't really ask Voldemort to give me a second so I could pack my own arm, could I?" Ron said irritably. "And for the last time, Voldemort's not above using blood curses. If I left even a drop of my blood, he could hurt me even if I were on the other side of the world."

Pomfrey sighed. "I'm sorry you had to go through all this," she murmured. "I wish you'd been able to experience your teenage years before you had to go through so much trauma."

So Madam Pomfrey didn't know of the two's identities. Judging by the way Ron and Harry didn't respond, they didn't care for her to know, either. It wasn't that they couldn't trust her - especially since Madam Pomfrey was oath-bound to keep all her patients' conditions private, even those that weren't necessarily relevant to the healing process - they just didn't care to repeat their tales all the time. They weren't exactly happy stories, after all.

"Did we have visitors while we were asleep?" Ron enquired.

"No, you did not," Pomfrey replied. "I chased them all away. For the most part, those wishing to see you were friends and family, but there were also members of the press."

"Oh, dear," Harry said. "In that case, thank you."

"You're very welcome," Pomfrey said with a slight smile. "For today I want you to have some quiet rest. I'll allow visitors for all of you tomorrow. You've all been through a lot, both physically and emotionally. I think you'll be better off with some time to recover."

"You're the expert," Ron sighed.

"I know I am," Pomfrey smirked.

* * *

"Oh! Good morning, Jim."

Suddenly, Jim was engulfed in a comforting smell and sensation. Once she pulled away, Jim could see Lily Potter's beaming face. Beside her was James Potter senior, who grinned and ruffled Jim's hair. Jim smiled at the two of them.

"Don't go overboard," Madam Pomfrey warned.

"Of course not, Poppy," Lily said seriously. "I'll make sure James doesn't horse around."

"Why do I always get suspected?" James Senior muttered under his breath.

"Where are Harry and Ron?" Jim asked, and the two adults looked at each other.

"Poppy says they escaped early in the morning - and goodness, she wasn't happy about that - but I haven't seen them so far," Lily replied. "I think they'll be fine, if they have the energy to escape Poppy's clutches. How are you feeling, sweetheart?"

"Fine, actually," Jim shrugged, testing out his fingers and toes; none of his movements gave him the slight pains that they did before, lingering aftereffects of the Cruciatus. "So, uh… what's happened in the last two days?"

James grimaced. "Dumbledore announced that Voldemort was back. Fudge is vehemently denying it. I was threatened with a demotion if I agreed with you and Dumbledore."

"Great," Jim said sarcastically. "It'll be second year all over again."

"Speaking of, kid, they brought that back up," James said, rolling his eyes. "Proof that you're crazy, apparently. This and your newest 'revelation'. This is supposedly all one big conspiracy to draw attention away from the fact that you are indeed Slytherin's Heir."

"Welcome to the Daily Oracle," Lily said bitterly. "The number-one source of information for Magical Britain. God, I miss the BBC."

"Hey," James said softly, and Jim looked up at him. "I don't really want to force this on you, but as both the Head of the Auror Department and your father, I need to know what happened to you after the third event."

"Okay," Jim said, taking a deep breath. "Well. We all knew the cup was a portkey - it was supposed to teleport you to the podium. Well, it instead went to a graveyard - I'm not sure where - but Voldemort implied his father was buried there."

As Jim talked, James Senior's face became progressively darker, while Lily's eyes became wide and horrified. She covered the lower portion of her face with her hands when Jim mentioned how Harry had remained under the Cruciatus for at least thirty seconds. Jim also described in detail how Ron had arrived, got hit with a blood-freezing curse, and then voluntarily amputated his own arm without any hesitation.

"Your friends don't sound like normal fifteen year-olds," James said, at the end. "But I'm glad they were on your side. Who knows what might have happened if they weren't there…"

"I'd be dead," Jim said softly. "The first victim of Voldemort's new empire."

"Those boys must be very, very good if they could hold their own against Voldemort himself, even if only temporarily," James shook his head. Jim raised an eyebrow at his mother, who shook her head to the side very slightly. He didn't know. "Weren't they also the same ones who apprehended Barty Crouch Jr. at the world cup? I wonder if they actually would like to join the Auror force…"

"Anyway, Jim," Lily said before her husband could go on a long rant about the merits of joining said force. "Poppy said you'll be allowed to go around noon, once you complete your last checkup. Dad and I will be waiting for you, okay? The Headmaster said you can finish your term a couple of weeks early under the guise of 'recovery'. We're going to France together."

Jim smiled. "I'd like that. Thank you."

His parents smiled and exited the hospital ward. Everything was silent as soon as the great doors closed, except for the faint, rhythmical sound of Madam Pomfrey doing paperwork in her office. In the quiet, Jim had only one lingering thought in his mind.

_What the hell prompted me to say '_spydum'_?_

* * *

"Well, I'm glad that at least you're not hurt," Katie laughed nervously. "I suppose all that unnecessary preparation you did came in useful, in the end."

"Yeah," Ron said easily, pinning his fork down with a gloved left hand and cutting his sausage. "It could have been a lot worse. A lot of things could have gone wrong."

Harry watched from the opposite side of the table. Ron's acting was very convincing, but he could tell Katie didn't buy it. Probably because Ron had started wearing tight-fitting, black gloves, starting today. Not many others noticed, and even if they did, they probably didn't see the connection. Some probably dismissed it outright, instead preferring to believe the Oracle over Jim Potter's claims.

Fleur, on the other hand, was nowhere to be found. Harry left the table and had gone so far as to inquire Madame Maxime of her whereabouts, but even she did not know where her favorite student had run off to. Harry had checked the Room of Requirements, but it was empty and unused. He'd checked the Chamber of Secrets, though he knew that Fleur couldn't have gotten down there since she did not speak Parseltongue. He'd checked the astronomy tower where they'd spent a few nights stargazing, but she wasn't there either.

He sighed and sat down on the parapets, his legs dangling over the edge. Up so high, the people below looked like ants and the wind threatened to topple him over the edge once or twice He felt high enough that if he listened really hard, he might be able to hear the clouds speak.

"I fucked up," he told the clouds.

And he did. He really should have told Jim what would have happened if he grabbed the cup. Sure, it wasn't as if Harry himself knew for certain; both Wormtail and Crouch Jr. were hidden away on Azkaban, so who else, if any, could have meddled with the portkey? But he should've known, and he should've told Jim. He would have looked like a massive dick if there was nothing wrong with the portkey in the end and Ron ended up winning the tournament, but it was better than risking the alternative.

The alternative, which had happened. His fault. His bloody fault.

At least nobody died this time, he thought grimly. But how long would it remain that way? Voldemort was back again, and he was even more powerful than in his own timeline. Even after having his ritual sabotaged and his horcruxes destroyed (not that he knew), he was still more powerful than the last Voldemort Harry had faced.

If his memory served him right, Voldemort would soon send emissaries to the acromantulas, the giants, the werewolves. The vampires had turned Voldemort down in his timeline and chose to remain neutral, but who knew? This Voldemort was much more powerful and perhaps the vampires might join him out of respect or fear.

The acromantulas were easily the biggest threat during the siege of Hogwarts. Their size, venom and sheer number was nothing short of terrifying, and they could easily climb over the defenses. Aragog would keep them in check until he died, but after that?

He could either attempt to eliminate the acromantula population, or he could attempt to reason with it. Exterminating the colony was an impossible task. Trying to reason with it was an even more impossible task. He had no idea what to do.

Giants were easy enough; giants respected power. They didn't eat humans to live, like acromantulas, so they didn't necessarily have to be in a permanently antagonistic relationship. Pick out the biggest, ugliest giant on the lot and beat the shit out of him, and then boom! You had a giant clan under your rule and more bitch-ugly giantesses wanting to mate with you than you could count. Harry was stronger than any giant, he was certain of that. He could probably gain the support of the giants if he tried.

What about werewolves? Werewolves had a bigger motive. They were constantly treated by the Ministry as third-class citizens, although most of them were very normal people twenty-seven days of each moon. But for that minor condition, which in most cases the people couldn't do anything about, it was near impossible for them to get jobs in the magical world, forbidden to enter the Muggle world to find a job there instead, marry someone, have children, or receive treatment at a public hospital. Not to mention, forbidden to attend Hogwarts.

They were fighting for freedom, for dignity. Their only enemy was really the Ministry and the stagnating political ideology - and Voldemort was opposed to that, so… the enemy of their enemy, and therefore Voldemort was their ally. Harry sincerely doubted the werewolves believed in that pureblood supremacy crap; they just wanted to get rid of the werewolf inferiority crap.

For that reason, Harry didn't really think he could convince the werewolves to join the light. It was one thing to kill Voldemort. Voldemort was a single man, and murder could be done by a single man in mere seconds. But changing Ministry policy? Mastering bureaucracy? Convincing the entire magical public that werewolves were in fact people and not mindless killing machines?

Could he really promise the werewolves something he doubted he could accomplish?

And the students. Oh, God, the students - how could he have forgotten? Kids still at school forced to follow their mother or father for fear of torture or death, both of themselves and their relatives. Draco Malfoy being a prime example, but also Crabbe and Goyle, Daphne Greengrass, Theodore Nott, probably Pansy Parkinson too.

How could he have been so _stupid_?

Maybe it was because he'd spent so long alone, so isolated, that it came to the point where he only really viewed Ron as his only friend. Because he watched other people lead happy lives and he couldn't bear to look at them longer, voluntarily turning his eyes away from everyone else. Maybe it was because of this, that…

"I'm no longer human," he said numbly.

Jim was right. Sirius was right. He only cared about his own glory and satisfaction, found namely in his fight against Voldemort. Only about revenge and satisfying his hatred. He didn't care about anyone around him. If he did, then he'd be trying to _help_ them.

"'Arry?"

Harry whipped around, jerking his body so fast that he almost fell off the tower. It was Fleur, her lips pursed in concern and her silver hair blown to the side by the wind. Since it was the weekend, she wasn't wearing her school uniform, instead a sky-blue shirt and a pair of waist-high trousers. Even in the magical world, the French were a lot more fashionable and modern than the British.

"Fleur," Harry said.

"What happened?" She asked. Over the duration of her stay, her accent had become less noticeable.

"The darkest and most powerful wizard in modern history just came back to life," Harry smiled thinly. "And he's a lot more powerful than we expected."

Fleur remained silent for a moment. "So it's true, then? What Jim said is true?"

"Beyond a doubt," Harry said. "Unless that trophy was made of magic mushrooms."

"Magic mushrooms?"

"Never mind."

The wind's mourning tones allowed them to spend the silence without becoming awkward. Harry and Fleur stared at each other for a long time, drinking in every detail of each other. Harry had several new scars, excluding the one hidden under bandages. Several thin lines along his arms and one across his cheek.

"What are you going to do now?" Fleur finally asked.

"I haven't a clue," Harry said, spreading his arms wide. "But I know what you're going to do."

"What am I going to do?"

"You're going back to France and putting up the strongest wards on your house that you know of, and hire others to do the wards you don't know of," Harry said. "Then you're going to stay there and not come back to England. Preferably not until Voldemort is dead."

Fleur remained silent, but when she did speak, her words cut through Harry like a knife. "You're going to throw me away, just like that?"

"I'm not throwing you away."

"Then what are you doing?"

"Asking you to survive the oncoming war."

"If your side loses, then it will not matter if I am in France or not," Fleur said quietly. "I can stay by your side and help you."

"I don't think you know just how terrible Voldemort is," Harry replied. "In fact, I _know_ you have no idea. See these injuries? They didn't come from Voldemort. They came from one of his followers." Fleur remained silent as Harry continued. "I didn't see you at breakfast this morning, so I don't think you noticed. But if you see Ron, take note of the fact that he's wearing gloves. It's because he's wearing a prosthetic now and doesn't want people to know about it."

Fleur glared at him, hard, and Harry was struck by a rippling wave of Veela allure. However, this time, it didn't entice him, plague him with envy. This time, it was raw anger. Fleur seemed to flicker between a human figure and a deadly, feathered, bipedal huntress.

"Tyranny was never defeated when the masses succumbed to fear," Fleur snarled. "You do not realize you are doing V-_Voldemort_'s work for him? I do not care about his reputation, 'Arry. I will not rely on you to fix my future for me."

That's right. Why should she?

Why should she rely on him?

He, who lost track of his priorities?

"Fine," Harry said. "Then stay. And fight."

"When I die, I will die standing," Fleur said firmly.

Harry's lips twitched into a faint smile. "At least graduate from school first."

* * *

And that's 4th Year all finished. I hope you've all enjoyed the story so far. Beginning the next year, we will undoubtedly encounter everyone's least favorite HP character and the beginning of the war. I should make a few notes to clarify certain things:  
There's a moment in Ch. 8 where Fleur addresses Harry as 'Arry Potter'. That's just a typo on my part. Fleur still doesn't know that Harry and Ron are dimension-travelers.  
UFOs were created in the aftermath of Voldemort's reign. Unfortunately, there are no elite magical ninjas to call on in this world excluding the two protagonists.

Everyone's favorite part: power levels! To describe everyone's power levels, I shall be using a scale of my own invention. I'll be ranking everyone relative to 100, the average score for a 7th-year student at Hogwarts.

Voldemort (first war): 520  
Voldemort (current): 480  
Dumbledore (Grindelwald-era): 440  
Harry Stark: 420  
Ronald Stark: 405  
Voldemort (old world): 400  
Dumbledore (Headmaster): 390  
James Potter (Auror Dpt.): 320  
Bellatrix LeStrange: 310  
Alastor Moody: 295  
Lucius Malfoy: 280  
Bill Weasley: 280  
Sirius Black (after prison): 260  
Nymphadora Tonks: 245  
Tom Riddle (student): 180  
Sybill Trelawney (villain): 140  
James Potter Jr.: 100  
Ginny Weasley: 80  
Hermione Granger: 75  
Gilderoy Lockhart: 10


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter ****Thirteen**

Jim stared at the small pile of presents in front of him. They were appreciated, but also served as a painful reminder that his closest friends weren't permitted to speak to him in person and celebrate together. Supposedly Hermione and Ginny were having a grand old time with the rest of his friends; Fred, George, Iris, occasionally Remus and Tonks.

They were hidden away in Sirius' house, which had become the headquarters for Dumbledore's self-immolating penguin club. Supposedly Sirius had no problems loaning it out because it meant Molly Weasley, and all the kids she'd inevitably recruit into her movement, would clean the dirtier parts of the house out for him. Sirius himself had disappeared somewhere - Jim assumed it would either be Las Vegas or Majorca - and Jim learned from Hermione's letters that Harry and Ron were also not present.

He sighed as he looked around the room. He was grateful for Aunt Petunia, he really was. She was that one really cool aunt that every boy wished they could have, and she tried her hardest to make Jim happy though they both knew Jim was being a brat sometimes. She and her girlfriend would bring home pizza, watch movies with him, teach him how to paint and once in a while (after they got permission from the bloody Order) take him out to somewhere fun.

As wonderful as Aunt Petunia was, and as hard as she tried to help him have fun, Jim could not be much more depressed. He'd been shunned by almost everyone he knew and dumped in this peak-suburbia, cookie-cutter neighborhood of Surrey. Ginny's letters all had a common theme, that being that her mother kept making her clean out the dank, dark cursed house in the company of a mentally unstable house-elf, but even then Jim wished he could be with them, escape from the utter unremarkableness of everyday life in this region.

The doorbell rang. Downstairs he could hear Aunt Petunia get up from the sofa and go to answer the door. Jim, having nothing to do anyway, decided to go investigate. He passed the numerous oil paintings hanging on the walls, downstairs, stepping over a pile of dirty smocks and a canvas stand that had fallen over, and watched his aunt open the door.

"Hey, Auntie Petunia!"

It was definitely not who Jim was expecting.

"You know Aunt Petunia?" Jim said to his pseudo-twin.

He looked a lot more different than before. First of all, he was a lot more muscular, and while he wasn't as bulky as, say, Charlie Weasley, he had gained toned muscles that spoke of rigorous manual labor. Second, he had a tan; his skin was now nicely bronzed, and Jim guessed that the man had been out and about quite often over the past few summer months.

"Of course I know my favorite aunt," Harry scoffed.

"We started speaking a year or so ago," Petunia smiled, brushing her shoulder-length, light brown hair out of her face. "He told me that you were a spoiled child who ran out of pocket money one month and whose parents didn't give him extra, so you ended up donating some of your DNA to a highly classified government project dealing with human cloning and Harry here was the result," Petunia said all in one breath.

"I'm not a spoiled brat," Jim muttered.

"Anyway," Harry said, kicking off his shoes - they looked very worn since the last time Jim saw them - and sat down cross-legged on the floor. "Ron and I visited some giants."

"Did you take photos?" Petunia asked excitedly, as Jim's jaw dropped.

"Of course we did," Harry grinned. He pulled out several A4-sized photographs, the occupants moving, of course, from a manila folder he had in his backpack. It showed two small figures, very obviously Harry and Ron, standing and grinning in front of a pair of giants sitting behind them. The giants, strangely enough, seemed _happy_. The four figures waved and grinned at Petunia and Jim.

"The giants have an enlarged copy as well, of course," Harry said. "By the way, we only got back yesterday. Ron isn't here because he's giving this exact same talk to Dumbledore."

"Right," Jim said. "How did you manage to get on such friendly terms with the giants?"

"By giving them a chance," Harry said simply. "We lived with them for a couple of months. We learned their language, their way of life. We also taught them the rules of sumo, which they liked very much indeed. We also had a drinking contest with them. They were amazed when Ron won, but they still don't know that I just kept vanishing the alcohol while it was still in Ron's mouth."

Petunia laughed. "It seems you had a lovely time there."

"We did, we really did. Those folks are quite friendly once you get to know them - trust me, I wasn't so certain at the beginning of that trip. Definitely not gentle, but quite friendly. When we were about to leave, we just asked them very politely not to join Voldemort. They agreed easily enough. We left them with a few gifts, and we were all happy."

"What kind of gifts?" Jim asked curiously.

"Oh, we got the chieftain - G'run, he's the one on the left - we got him a warhammer. He was quite pleased when we told him the story of Mjolnir why we named his hammer that. We also gave them a few other trinkets, like a globe, a telescope, a deck of cards, that sort of thing."

"A telescope?" Jim blinked. "What use do they have for that?"

"That's the sort of disrespectful attitude the Ministry has with giants," Harry said, wagging his finger in front of Jim's face obnoxiously. "They have a lot of mythology centered around the stars. Most of the stories are quite violent, but interesting - and now they have a way to get closer to the stars than ever before."

"How poetic," Jim breathed, clapping his hands to his chest, all in a rather accurate imitation of their aunt. Petunia lightly whacked Jim and Harry sniggered appreciatively.

"Anyway, telling you about my adventures is not the only reason why I'm here," Harry said, leaning forward. "I'm here to redeem you from your torturous monotony. I can't take you to faraway places - not without Dumbledore noticing quicker than I'd like - but I can come over and train you. We might go to the gym, or the local pool too. Those should be close enough to this place to be safe."

"Do you actually think I'm in danger?" Jim asked suddenly.

"Yeah, you are," Harry replied. "All the Death Eaters that didn't bother to go looking for their master are now trying their hardest to get back on his good side. No better way than to start with kidnapping you. Some areas are obviously more dangerous, like Knockturn Alley or its much more psychopathic, mildly retarded and God-fearing little brother, the Abyss."

"What?"

"I know what you're thinking - they didn't make a ridiculous 'alley' pun! Then again, it is located underground, so I suppose the concept of an alley down there is a little different." Harry grinned. "But anyway, as I was saying. Different places are obviously going to have different danger levels. I personally think you would be fine if you avoid areas of high magical density. There are some methods of tracking you down, but as far as I can tell Voldemort doesn't have the required materials, your blood being one of them."

"Are you sure?" Jim asked. "I mean, someone ended up throwing my signature into the goblet of fire somehow."

"I'm sure you've had your fair share of injuries, so I can see why that's a concern," Harry smirked. "But Madam Pomfrey takes her charge very seriously and I can guarantee that the first thing she does with used bandages is burn them. And, as with most things, blood has a certain shelf-life. Much less so if the blood is exposed to the elements, for example after a Quidditch accident outside. Any alteration to your blood will make subsequent blood magic exponentially more unreliable, which is one reason that wizards abhor blood transfusions."

"So I should be alright?" Jim asked.

"Yeah, I think so."

"So Dumbledore's keeping me here for no reason," Jim growled.

Harry shrugged. "I can sort of understand why. You're an extremely important figure in this war. Your death would result in a huge upset of morale, first of all. And what else… yeah, that's about it, actually. You're only useful as an inspiration to the light side."

Jim punched his twin in the arm. "Piss off. Anyway."

"Anyway?"

"You mentioned something called the Abyss."

"I did," Harry said warily.

"Will you tell me about it?"

"If you give me a wizard's oath to not step foot in there for idle curiosity," Harry said, and Jim was surprised at the seriousness of his tone, but agreed anyway. Once he spoke the words, Jim felt the tingle of magic constrict briefly around his throat then disappear. "Alright, then. What do you want to know?"

"I dunno… how many people live there? What are they like?"

"I'd say about one hundred permanent residents, and maybe four hundred others who know and regularly spend time in it. As for what they're like, they're quite the mixed bunch. But if they all have one thing in common, it's that they're the most ruthless beings in all Magical Europe."

Harry held none of his joking tone, but that only made Jim more curious. "What do you mean by that?"

"Well, let's just say that every person who has ever gone down to the Abyss has blood on their hands, but the ones that are most successful there are also the ones who have learned how to get as little blood on their hands as possible while still committing the murder," Harry said. "You'll find mercenaries, assassins, traffickers, but most importantly, the mafia. There are three mafia clans underground. A vampire-led mafia, a wizard-led mafia, and a veela-led mafia. Every single one of them are terrifying in their own unique way."

"Have you fought any of them?" Jim asked.

"I was sent once to assassinate several upper-echelon veela from the last group," Harry smiled grimly. "I was one of the few operatives the government had that could resist Veela allure, you see. I would estimate that every one of them were at least as powerful as Bellatrix Lestrange, skips the taunting and goes straight for the kill. Oh, there's also the fact that they've developed a spell that amplifies their allure and turns nearby male, and occasionally female, targets into mindless, lusting sex slaves who couldn't sneeze so much without their mistress' permission."

"Right," Jim said nervously.

"Stick to Faye, she has a much better personality. Anyway, I've never met the vampire-led mafia group and have no desire to, but I have come into contact with the wizard mafia. I also know for a fact that Tom Riddle is amicable with their group and occasionally recruits." Harry pulled a face. "Fenrir Greyback was one of the thugs under the employ of that clan. He was about to be executed because he couldn't control his rampages. Tom Riddle asked if he could have Greyback instead, and that's the only reason Greyback is still alive today."

Jim shuddered. The werewolf was one of those names told by mothers to their children to stop them from doing bad things, a man that spread so much pain and terror that he'd gained his own legacy in folklore. It was chilling to know that he'd once been at the complete mercy of another group powerful enough to euthanize him like just another rabid dog.

"Have I managed to convince you that it's not the kind of place that you want to explore for fun?" Harry asked.

"Yeah, you have," Jim smiled morbidly.

"Good. Now, I think in about five minutes dear old Nymphadora will wake up. I better get going before she realizes who hit her over the head with a shovel," Harry winked. "Oh, don't look at me like that. If I'd used a stunning spell Fudge would show up at the door with an arrest warrant for underage magic and you would be thrown into Azkaban without a trial, just like Sirius."

"I guess," Jim sighed. It was strange having to agree with the process of hitting your childhood friend over the head with a shovel.

"Speaking of," Harry stared Jim in the eye. "In my timeline, the bitch Umbridge sent dementors into this neighborhood on an evening in late July. Close to your birthday, I think, but I don't remember the exact details. Only go outside during the day. Do not use the patronus charm unless the dementors manage to get in your house. In an ideal situation, the Order guard will take care of it for you, file the necessary paperwork saying yes, there was a dementor and I needed to do that, and you'll be undeniably off the hook."

"Right," Jim said, bewildered.

"I'll see you tomorrow. Don't get too angsty," Harry grinned. "Oh, here's a present."

As Harry left, Jim picked up the object, wrapped in plain brown paper. Jim rolled his eyes. It was a small, paperback book. _The Magical Bachelor's Guide to Keeping Your Home More Like a Home and Not a Troll's Cave_.

* * *

_HONK!_

Jim was shuddered awake by the blaring of an automobile horn. He was so shocked by it, and his state of almost-waking, led to his body flinching violently and his tumbling out of the bed. He groaned, but remembering Harry's lessons, he quickly dragged himself up, palmed his wand, and shakily put his glasses on.

_HONK!_

Jim went to the window and threw the curtains open. A dark blue BMW sedan was parked in front of 4 Privet Drive. Jim saw a familiar-looking, mischievous face from the front passenger seat, rimmed with pink hair.

"Get in, loser!" Tonks shouted. "We're going shopping!"

"What?"

"...ask me to say that, by the way?" Tonks muffled voice speaking to whomever the driver was. Then: "It's already ten o'clock. Ron says to get your arse out of bed, thank your aunt and throw all your stuff in the boot. You can shower at Grimmauld."

"Alright," Jim sighed. He picked up his two trunks, one of which contained his clothes and personal possessions as well as another that contained his school items, clamped the handle of Hedwig's cage in between his teeth (to which Hedwig gave an irritable hoot) and stumbled down the stairs. He found Aunt Petunia sitting with her legs tucked underneath her body on the sofa, dressed in a fluffy-looking robe and a mug of coffee held between her hands, watching the morning news.

She smiled at Jim's bedraggled look and the fact that he was still wearing his pajamas. "Leaving already?"

"Yeah," Jim said awkwardly.

He thought back to the previous evening, when Aunt Petunia had come home from an outing with a whole, roast chicken and an expensive tub of ice cream. Since it was Jim's last day, she'd said. She'd steamed some vegetables and mashed potatoes and they'd had a large dinner - and though the chicken was store-bought, it was quite good. They ended up eating the dessert straight from the tub as they huddled up on the sofa together and watched Episode VI of Star Wars. It had felt really good. A different kind of pleasantness to his own mother.

"I'm going to miss you, James," Petunia said, setting the mug down on the coffee table. She spread her arms.

"I'm gonna miss you too," Jim said honestly, and let himself melt into his aunt's embrace.

Ron watched the proceedings from the doorway, where he'd planned to pick up Jim's trunks for him. Well, didn't that put an end to the Nature vs. Nurture Theory? Petunia was so incredibly different in this world than their own - because, according to Harry, she'd found a talent and passion within herself that far outstripped any jealousy she had of her magical sister. Harry had done a hilarious impression of Dumbledore ("_ah, art; a magic more beautiful than magic itself_," his green eyes twinkling) and while it was done in jest, Ron had to agree.

Just see how beautiful Petunia had become, thanks to art.

"No go give them hell, kid," Petunia grinned, clapping Jim on the shoulder.

"I will," Jim smiled earnestly.

Ron dumped both of Jim's trunks into the boot of the E34 M5 while Hedwig's cage was placed in the back seat, secured with a seatbelt. Jim piled in next to the owl and Tonks spun around in her seat, grinning. "Wotcher, Jimmy," she said.

"Wotcher, Tonks," Jim replied as Ron peeled away.

"How've you been?"

"Oh, Aunt Petunia was lovely. She seemed genuinely concerned that I was effectively under house arrest - which nobody else was, funnily enough."

That shut her up and Ron sniggered as he turned a corner. Jim didn't want to take it out on Tonks, because they'd been friends since Jim was a gurgling baby and Jim really liked her, but he had to take it out on _someone_ and he didn't fancy his chances of winning a verbal argument with Ron.

"Don't worry, Nymphadora," Ron said cheerfully. Jim noticed how Tonks didn't get angry at Ron's usage of her given name, instead just looking rather resigned. "He's only upset because his favorite shapeshifting girl hasn't been noticing him enough lately."

Tonks laughed as Jim reddened. "Shut up, Ron," Jim mumbled.

"I thought Jim had a girlfriend anyway?" Tonks asked.

"He's gotten quite close to this one girl, but he's not got the balls yet to ask her out properly," Ron said, as they weaved through London's weekend traffic.

"Hey, Ron?" Jim asked, as Ron glanced back, making sure nobody was charging up behind him, as he merged onto the highway. "How come Dumbledore agreed to transport me to Grimmauld Place on a car?"

"That's a good question, actually," Tonks said, turning to Ron. "I know that Moody wanted to fly brooms in formation under disillusionment charms."

"One advantage of an automobile is that you sit inside it, rather than on it," Ron replied. "Meaning that the body of the car can be warded against magic and charmed unbreakable. Second is, who the hell would expect it?"

Jim rolled over this information in his head. "Fair enough," he finally settled.

"Third, unofficial reason is, we can test out the magical modifications Harry and I put onto this baby," Ron grinned, and pressed down hard on the gas.

Even though they were already traveling at 70 mph, the acceleration was so sharp that Jim felt his lungs compress as if he were underwater and was pushed back against his seat. Tonks made an uncomfortable 'eep!' sound and grabbed the oh-fuck handle above the window. The speedometer's needle continued to climb until Ron was weaving through sparse traffic at 150 miles per hour, and _still climbing_.

"We get it," Tonks said, mildly terrified. "Please slow back down to legal speeds."

"I didn't know Tonks was a scaredy cat," Ron taunted as the engine screamed; the tachometer showed it was operating at 8,200 revolutions; Ron was still in the fifth gear out of six.

"Yes, yes I am," Tonks whimpered. "Please slow down."

Ron grudgingly slowed down.

If there was any advantage to going ridiculously fast, it was that you had to endure less of it. This was proved correct when they stopped in front of 12 Grimmauld Place and Albus Dumbledore greeted them with a raised eyebrow and pocket-watch in hand, and said, "you're ten minutes early."

"Wish we weren't," Tonks muttered weakly as Jim stumbled out of his seat. Only Ron and Hedwig seemed unperturbed.

"Ah, Ronald's been exhibiting his daredevil tendencies again, I see," Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling madly. "Best you both get inside and have a glass of water. Jim?"

"Yes, Professor?" Jim asked. He turned to his Headmaster with a mixture of relief and suspicion. This was the man who was responsible for his isolation, yet Jim couldn't sense any ill-will radiating from the old man and his sensors seemed confused as to what he should think of him.

Dumbledore smiled. "Your friends have been eager to see you. They're on the third floor, the bedrooms on the left."

"Thank you," Jim nodded, and began to drag his things into the house. Up ahead, Tonks was cursing after she smacked her shin on an umbrella stand that radiated bad taste. Ron paused beside Jim, then pulled a face.

"Thank Merlin. Harry's finally gotten rid of that old hag's picture," he said.

"Whose picture?"

"Sirius' mum. Lovely woman," Ron praised, sarcasm practically dripping off of his tongue at this point. "She was a very attentive woman, always wanting to kids to succeed… in certain social circles."

Jim shuddered as he and Ron stepped carefully over the umbrella stand. "By the way, Jim, would you happen to have started having nightmares recently?"

Jim's head swiveled and snapped onto Ron. "How do you know that?"

"Harry guessed you were," Ron shrugged, and smirked. "Remember, he knows all, sees all."

That was something that could be perceived as merely a humorous statement in a house that Nymphadora, Remus, Molly Weasley, Hermione, and Ginny were in, as well as the frequent comings and goings of various other Order members - but to Jim, it was a gentle reminder that Harry had gone through mostly the same things that he had.

"Well, guess what," Ron grinned, clapping his hand onto Jim's shoulder and nearly making him drop one of his trunks. "Dumbledore has a solution to that, which he'll effect come this school semester. A very bad solution, mind you, but we can help with the 'very bad' bit. Otherwise, we won't do anything, as not to raise suspicions."

"Right," Jim said, slightly nervous inside from whatever this 'bad solution' was.

"Anyway, go take your shower," Ron said, looking away. "Dumbledore wants to speak to me. I've been putting him off for long enough."

Jim nodded and headed upstairs. Ron prepared himself. While it may not be in their best interests to speak to the Headmaster of their origins, after their recent fuckup, the cost was too high otherwise.

* * *

"I think it's time you reveal a few things that you know, Ronald," Dumbledore said.

His tone was light and pleasant as if they were merely discussing his classes. However, if one was as magic-sensitive as Ron had become or strained very hard, they would notice the spoken words being laced with a minuscule fraction of Dumbledore's potent magic, the… _taste _of which, if it could be called that, reminded Ron of a freshly baked banana bread.

In other words, Ron was feeling a little threatened.

He also had to balance his secrets with the wellbeing of the people in this world. He had certain information that he'd rather not share with people, like his family name; since Harry had never had a family, it was understandable for him to want to reconnect with them, but Ron did not want it. He himself didn't really know why.

Ron would also prefer to keep quiet his knowledge of dark magic. Though he was heavily accented, with Harry's help he'd become a parseltongue. He'd also raided the Black library with Harry in search of ancient magic more than once, and each time he'd come out having increased in his proficiency of magical arts that would make any sane wizard's skin crawl.

"I suppose it is," Ron replied, just as lightly.

Silence stretched again.

Ron also needed to make sure he didn't unintentionally reveal Harry's secrets. Harry, no doubt, would not want his old status as 'Boy-Who-Lived' to become widely known. The last thing Harry wanted was to be considered a pawn in Dumbledore's grand crusade against dark magic. He was also not fond of the general wizarding public or the government, so he wouldn't want to become the poster boy for the light side yet again.

To gain some control over his thoughts, Ron ponderingly sipped some of his tea. Immediately, he felt the effects of Veritaserum kick in. Ron masked his features to neutrality; he couldn't show just how panicked he was, or Dumbledore would take advantage of it.

One thing that surprised him was that Dumbledore was indeed willing to actually spike his tea. Ron would personally have expected him to guilt-trip Ron into submission through disappointed head-shakes and twinkling eyes and saying something along the lines of, 'do you not care if all these people are hurt?' The Dumbledore he remembered wasn't this… ballsy.

Ron gently set the cup down to its saucer. He could see Dumbledore's eyes flash down towards his fingers, to divine any measure of his discomposure. There was none; his grip was steady and relaxed. If only he felt this calm on the inside.

"Where are you from?"

"Far away," Ron said. The Veritaserum in his system felt like it wanted to torture Ron for that half-arsed response, but it couldn't do anything. Not when it was technically true.

"You encountered Lord Voldemort where you were originally from?" Dumbledore asked.

"I did."

"Did you defeat him?"

Not specific enough, Dumbledore - your habit of being intentionally vague has come back to bite you in the arse. "No," Ron said. And it was true. Harry had defeated him. Ron hadn't done much except destroy a few of his Horcruxes.

"Did Harry defeat him?"

Fuck. He felt the compulsion suffocating him. "Yes," he said.

"How?"

"With dumb luck, coincidence and a lot of sacrifices," Ron said. Technically not a lie. Very accurate, in fact.

"Did Harry kill Voldemort?"

Compulsion. Seething hatred. "Yes."

"So Harry was the prophesized child in your world?"

Ron flinched. Not because he was shocked, but because biting back 'yes' was becoming exceedingly painful. As he was being waterboarded, it felt like. He hated himself for showing a reaction - as if Dumbledore wasn't cataloging every minute change in Ron's physiology or behavior to analyze later.

"_Yes_," Ron hissed.

Dumbledore flinched at the sheer venom in his voice, and Ron was pleased with himself. If he was forced to react, then so would he. While Ron loved the barmy old Headmaster, he _never_ allowed anyone to advantage of him.

"What did Harry sacrifice?" Dumbledore prompted.

Ron's left eye ticced. "Everything. Except me," Ron bared his teeth in what could be called a smile.

His heart was beating fast and hard. It knew there was something wrong with his body. It knew that it was causing unimaginable pain and terror whenever Ron even thought about lying. But it had no idea where it was coming from and it was confused. Ron was struggling to breathe. Oh, God. How would the potion affect him if he blacked out? Was it harmful?

He wanted to throw up.

"What are you doing in this world?"

"Regain what we lost," Ron said through clenched teeth.

"Such as?"

"F...friends. Family."

"Who are your family?"

"...Delacours."

It wasn't a lie. Fleur was his sister-in-law. Ron could see Dumbledore becoming confused, and bit back a smug smirk.

"Who is your mother?"

Fuck this.

Ron snapped his wand up with agility that surprised the old Headmaster into action. Ron noted with grim satisfaction how the old man was no longer carrying the Elder Wand, instead a rather normal wand that he'd gotten at Ollivander's. Dumbledore was more surprised when Ron pointed the wand under his throbbing throat, and said only one word.

"_Silencio_."

The pain went from 100 to zero real quick as soon as Ron silently spat out the name of his mother. He stood up, and went to the door, warningly holding his wand in Dumbledore's direction as if to ward him away. Sometimes, he just didn't want to talk to people about certain things. How could it be so difficult to see that?

Dumbledore did not get up from his seat. He seemed to understand there was nothing he could do to make Ron answer that question, short of the Imperius which Ron was immune to.

"Very well, Ron. You may keep your secrets." Dumbledore stood. "But when people are murdered by Voldemort… so be it on your head."

Ah, there was that familiar guilt-tripping Ron was more used to.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen**

Harry had been outraged.

Despite Ron's assurances that no harm was done and Dumbledore had many valid reasons for wanting to know the truth behind their stories, Harry considered this an attack and any attack on his best friend was also an attack on himself. Harry, for obvious reasons, despised being at the mercy of another person, and preferred to operate on his own reasons even if they were of dubious quality.

Ron was sensitive to the flow of atmospheric magics, all witches and wizards were when they were constantly exposed to it for a long time. This meant that when Harry had his seemingly legendary row with Dumbledore the day after Ron's interrogation, it was all Ron could do to clutch his head in pain and roll around on his bed, much to the confusion of his classmates, and most of the Order members. Ron knew for a fact that Snape was more sour than usual for the same reason as he.

However, when Harry and Dumbledore emerged from their silenced meeting room - the magic was so airtight that not even the Twins could find a way past it - both were relatively calm and docile. Or at least gave the appearance of it. Dumbledore's eyes were weary and frustrated, while Harry's green eyes were dull with leftover rage.

This was still a lot better than Ron expected to see; Ron, while usually confident of his friend's ability to keep himself contained, was afraid of the possibility that Harry might turn his anger onto someone else. Ron observed Harry's rage dampen slightly when he took a look at Jim, and once more as he approached Ron. He soon found out the reason why.

"We came to a concession," Harry explained. "Dumbledore is going to give us full Order membership, meaning we have to attend meetings but we can interrupt anytime we like. We've also been advised to finish school after this year, and spend the year after that hunting Voldemort's lieutenants. But in the meanwhile, we're going to be teaching Jim martial magics and how to use them."

"Alright," Ron agreed quickly. "I mean, we're doing the DA this year, correct? Do we need to limit this training to just Jim?"

"I think we should be teaching the basics to everyone in the school." Harry ran his fingers through his hair. "They're all going to be caught up in the crossfire eventually, whether it be werewolves in Hogsmeade or a siege on Hogwarts."

"And what about Umbridge? What should we be doing about her?" Ron asked. "We need to keep her in check in a way that doesn't involve Fudge declaring martial law."

"They probably won't be taking teacher applications this late in the year, will they?" Harry said darkly. "I can think of a few people we know from the Abyss that would make her soil herself."

"What about you?" Ron suggested, and Harry raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, it'll be illegal, but Dumbledore already suggested dropping out after this year, yeah? And I only suspect he said that because basic OWLs are required to apply. Considering Sirius' fortune, you don't necessarily need a job, and even if you did, Unspeakables are willing to overlook lack of education once they form the UFOs."

"True," Harry hummed. "But how would I convincingly change my appearance, permanently?"

"Use a glamour and anchor it to a piece of jewelry," Ron shrugged, stating the obvious, and illegal, method. A glamour was a simple enough spell, but as it consistently drained magic, it would take a toll on Harry's magical reserves; if it had a physical anchor, such as a ring, then it could be modified to drain magic from the air, making it much more long-lasting and realistic. Of course, the potential for identity theft was prevalent, so it was punishable by Azkaban.

"Albus!" Ron called, grinning at this idea. Dumbledore shuffled over warily from his original conversation with McGonagall, looking wary, lest this conversation erupt into another one-sided shouting match. "I think we have found new Defense professors for you."

"Who?" McGonagall called, interested and no longer at all annoyed by their interruption.

"Me," Harry sighed. McGonagall looked at him incredulously, but Dumbledore stroked his beard. "You proposed we leave school after OWLs anyway unless we wanted to do Masteries. Ron's decided that this year is not much more important for my education, but still important for student morale and _their_ education. Hence, Ronald has nominated someone the whole school loves and trusts."

"Surely not an OWL student teaching NEWT students," McGonagall said. "And to think of your future!"

"He'll use a glamour, obviously," Ron said, unfazed. "Maybe early-twenties, make sure he doesn't have too much of a resemblance to his original self. Harry is as violent and anti-ministry as they come, don't worry. The hag Umbridge won't have a chance."

At these words, McGonagall's face turned a little less upset and a little smugger.

"And what of you, dear Ronald?" Dumbledore asked curiously.

"Not sure," Ron shrugged. "Perhaps I'll be Harry's Apprentice. I'll have to speak with Sirius before I decide anything."

"Well, Messrs. Stark," McGonagall said. "We generally want teachers to be chosen a month before the school year begins, otherwise we cannot send out the owls with school materials out on time. That gives you three days to decide what you wish to do with yourselves, if indeed Harry wants to become a professor." Her mouth tightened. "Although I hope you know what you're doing."

"They have my full assurances, Minerva," Dumbledore said. "They are far beyond any curriculum Hogwarts has to offer."

"Severus also has your assurances," McGonagall muttered under her breath. All of them heard, the two boys smirked, Dumbledore pretended she hadn't said anything.

"In three days time, then," Ron said. "We'll return with our answer."

* * *

The mood within the carriage was much better than when Jim had first arrived at Grimmauld Place. Harry and Ron had been quite the mediator when it came to Jim's outbursts, teaching him the basics of Occlumency and the associated emotional control. Jim was able to restrain much of his frustration and rage in the presence of his friends, as much as they annoyed him by being completely clueless to _why_ he was so frustrated.

The problem was that both Hermione and Ginny were blind with their hero-worship of Dumbledore. Indeed, not many people could resist Dumbledore's carefully constructed persona; the kind, grandfatherly look and words to inspire trust, and imply that Dumbledore had a lot of wisdom. Of the latter, there was no doubt, but after being locked away during his summer, even if Aunt Petunia had been a wonderful host, did not improve Jim's outlook of the old man.

Also in the remainder of the summer, the failed dementor attack on 4 Privet Drive had inspired James Potter Senior to attempt training regimes with his son whenever his schedule allowed. He'd been sincerely impressed with how much Jim knew already; Jim gave credit where it was due and pointed his father in Harry and Ron's direction. James Senior commented that their style of combat was 'brutal and efficient.' Jim thought that was a pretty decent summary. Turns out with this style of fighting, Mad-Eye was a lot more proficient teacher, so Jim ended up doing Mad-Eye Moody's training regime of hell.

While Ron and Harry occasionally appeared, they were gone more often than not. Hermione, Ginny, and the twins speculated as to just what they were up to, with theories ranging from ongoing medical treatment to orgies on a cruise ship in the Mediterranean with Sirius, but not a single one had managed to connect their disappearances with the string of break-ins, robberies and occasional murders of marked Death Eaters. Jim tried not to have an opinion about it. It was simply better to pretend that Ron and Harry were different people to when they pulled on their dark-blue dragonhide masks.

"I wonder who the Defense professor is going to be this time," Hermione asked, and Jim turned to look at her from the view out the window.

Jim knew already, he'd been told by Harry himself. "The Ministry was saying it wanted to get its hands into Hogwarts."

"I hope that doesn't happen," Hermione responded nervously.

"Reckon it's someone we know?" Ginny asked. "Maybe one of the Aurors, if it's from the Ministry?"

"An Auror should know better than to pick out a book like this one," Hermione said distastefully, glaring daggers at her new Defense textbook. "Most of his solutions to conflict resolution is to run away. Which is a valid solution, sure, but only in situations where you actually can run away."

Harry had been furious. He'd jokingly assigned students to purchase copies of Playwizard as their Defense textbook, and it was only natural that it would be rescinded by McGonagall, but instead of his 'boring backups' he'd been shoved the Wilbert Slinkhard textbook in front of his face by the Ministry. Not much Hogwarts' administration could do about it, apparently. Harry was also discussing with Ron the possibility of using a 'thermonuclear warhead' to detonate the Ministry building.

"Hermione?" Jim asked curiously, and the bookworm turned to her. "What's a thermonuclear warhead?"

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "Why do you ask?"

"I heard Harry and Ron talking about it, and I'm guessing that's some sort of Muggle thing I don't understand…"

"Harry and Ron? Thermonuclear warhead? I feel like I'm forgetting something… oh well," Hermione sighed. "A thermonuclear warhead is the most devastating weapon ever developed by Muggles, period. Only two nuclear weapons have ever been deployed in war, and each one of them subsequently killed about a hundred thousand people, both from the initial blast and the radiation poisoning. The nuclear weapons these days are hundreds of times more powerful."

Okay. Maybe Jim should be more concerned about that discussion.

"Well," Ginny blinked.

"Speaking of those two," Hermione said, shifting the topic. "They're not coming this year."

"Why not?" Ginny asked.

"Harry said he wanted to spend more time in the veela community with Fleur and all her supermodel cousins," Jim said with a wry grin, and Hermione predictably scoffed. "Ron said he was coming, but as an Apprentice. He was so far ahead of the curriculum that Dumbledore gave him permission to do his Defense Mastery under the new Defense professor."

"Wow," Hermione breathed. "I always knew Ron was knowledgeable, but…"

"He's skipped his OWLs and his NEWTs!" Ginny exclaimed.

"What about Sirius?"

"He got bored and quit," Jim smirked, and again, Hermione rolled her eyes. Academia wasn't life, Hermione. "He said he also wanted to do some research that his father began, so he'll mostly be at one of his Black properties in France, doing some research into Apparitional Theory."

"That actually sounds very interesting," Hermione perked up, no longer at all concerned by Sirius' lack of education. "I'll have to talk about it with him when I can."

Jim laughed nervously. Sirius wouldn't be prepared for that conversation at all, considering that was a blatant lie.

There was a knock on the cabin door. Jim had been fully expecting it, but he flinched nonetheless. Moody's paranoia was rubbing off on him.

The door opened to reveal an unfamiliar face. However, it was undeniably gorgeous. The woman, neither tall nor short, of about average build, had reddish-brown hair that curled down to her shoulders. Her eyes were a piercing blue and her facial features immaculate. She wore a much more tight-fitting robe than most witches did, indeed more like a coat than a robe, and when she spoke, she spoke with a faint Eastern European accent.

"May I join you in this cabin?" She asked. "This is the first I've found that is not full."

"Oh, of course," Hermione said quickly, scooting over. Ginny grimaced slightly; she'd guessed the identity of who this was. "Are you the new Defense professor?"

"I am," she said with a curt nod. "My name is Zuzanna Brzęczyszczykiewicz."

Hermione blinked and Ginny sort of gawped. Jim had to hide his smile behind his hand. Trust Harry to make life more difficult for everyone else than it needed to be. He could only imagine the struggle on the faces of students when they would try to ask 'Professor Brzęczyszczykiewicz' to ask a question.

But speaking of which, Jim had never really met a Polish person, but he had no doubt that Harry's pronunciation was perfect, meaning he could probably speak the language too. He truly was a man of many talents, and Jim found himself wondering if he should instead become a special operative instead of an Auror, even if it meant he couldn't talk about it to anyone else.

"Uh…" Hermione hesitated. "I'm Hermione Granger. It's a pleasure to meet you, Professor."

"It is mine also," Harry/Zuzanna replied with a tight-lipped smile. If Jim hadn't been given the information beforehand, he would never have guessed this woman was Harry under a glamour.

"How old are you, Professor?"

Jim smiled as Hermione asked her questions; it was obvious she had only one real question she wanted to ask, and she had to ease into it.

"I turned twenty-five this year," the 'Professor' said curtly.

"Hermione's upset about the textbook you assigned us," Ginny said bluntly, and Jim could tell she was enjoying throwing Hermione under the hippogriff.

"Uh, well, that is to say-"

"I understand. I am upset also," Zuzanna said, surprising Hermione. Zuzanna's tone was bitter and Jim doubted this frustration was an act as well. "The British Ministry believed that the textbook I had in mind was too… graphic." Jim hid his smirk. "Instead they have chosen a book written by an imbecile without two thoughts in his mind to rub together."

"That's unfortunate," Hermione offered.

"Not for me, but for all you students, yes," Zuzanna agreed. "Nevertheless, I shall have to try harder with my job."

"Where do you come from?" Ginny asked curiously. "You don't sound like you're from here."

"I come from Poland," Zuzanna replied. "From a town called Ostrowiec Świętokrzyski."

Ginny opened her mouth, and closed it. "Right," she finally said.

Jim knew that Harry didn't come in here only to make people uncomfortable. He was a bodyguard. Even the short carriage ride between Hogsmeade Station and Hogwarts was a potential ambush point. And like it had done two years ago, the train was vulnerable to attacks as well. Even armed with this prior knowledge, Jim barely noticed Harry using silent casting to ward the cabin.

Harry, in his disguise, looked at Jim and winked.

In the long train ride, Zuzanna Brzęczyszczykiewicz was only around some of the time. The other half of the time, she was out patrolling, similar to what Hermione the new prefect was doing. The male prefect was Neville. Jim thought it was a good choice. While Neville was a bit timid, one could always rely on him to be fair and just, and a little more experience with authority might help him get over his tendency to shy away from leadership.

"Ron must be very happy right now," Ginny grumbled. "Apprenticing under a teacher that looks like that."

Jim raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything. It probably wasn't wise for him to do so, anyway. Ron was already aware that, during his fourth year and especially during the recent summer break, Ginny seemed to be competing for his attention. Ginny probably thought it subtle - but to Ron and Jim, it was fairly obvious. Jim had long since acknowledged Ginny's signs of infatuation, having been the target of them before, and Ron was - well, literally - Ginny.

Jim probably shouldn't crumple her dreams by saying that the target of her attraction was much more closely related to her than she probably thought. Best to simply wait for her to get over it, the same way she'd done with Jim himself.

Hermione came back after a while and Faye Dunbar popped her head into their compartment once or twice, though she always left again as she was sitting with her own group of friends. When they finally rolled to a stop at Hogsmeade, Professor Brzęczyszczykiewicz suddenly appeared at their side.

"There is a carriage," the new professor said. "Are we to take those to the castle?"

"Yes," Hermione nodded. "Have you been to the castle before?"

"I have. I needed to make my living arrangements and take a tour," Zuzanna replied, nodding once.

Since they were cramped inside a train compartment, Jim had not noticed just how expertly Harry Stark played the role of Zuzanna Brzęczyszczykiewicz. Their style of walking was definitely different; in contrast to Harry's carefree gait, Zuzanna walked gracefully, but dangerously, like a predator on the prowl. Her coat glided behind her like one from a dementor. The manner of speaking, interacting, walking - it was all different.

Jim's obsession with secret agents only increased from this point.

They loaded onto the carriage, joining Luna and Neville. Both of them greeted the trio with warm smiles, and the almost cold expression of the new professor with wariness and unease (or at least Neville did). Luna just observed her with innocently wide eyes. Jim was impressed; the volume of information that Harry and Luna could observe was staggering, but while 'Zuzanna' did so with the obvious intent of frightening her target, Luna did so with such wide-eyed innocence that it was difficult to feel scared.

"Are you the new Defense professor?" Luna asked.

"I am," Zuzanna replied. "My name is Zuzanna Brzęczyszczykiewicz."

"That's an awfully long name," Luna said bluntly. If 'Zuzanna' were anyone else, she might have gotten offended. "Do you mind if I just address you as 'professor'?"

"I do not," Zuzanna replied with a slight smile.

The carriage stopped in front of the grand entrance of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Zuzanna had to leave, to join the staff at their pre-feast meeting. The students, on the other hand, joined the other Gryffindors and Ravenclaws to their respective dormitories so they could get changed and prepare for the meal.

As Jim changed into his robes, Neville asked him a question.

"Hey, Jim? What do you think the new Professor… Professor is going to be like?"

Jim smiled slightly as Neville gave up completely on pronouncing her name. "I think she'll be a pretty good professor."

"You think? She looked real mean on that carriage…" he hesitated. "She won't turn out to be like Professor Snape, will she?"

"I doubt it," Jim said honestly. "But I don't think she was hired necessarily because she has teaching credentials."

Neville blinked. "What do you mean?"

"She's probably someone who's extremely competent in her field of magic," Jim explained. "But not necessarily having teaching experience before."

"Right," Neville sighed. "Hopefully it's not another Lockhart."

"We'll see," Jim grimaced, knowing that Harry practically hailed Lockhart as his patron saint.

They went downstairs to the Great Hall. Predictably, the girls were not there yet, gossiping about who knows what, probably. Meanwhile, the two of them met up with Seamus and Dean. The latter greeted them warmly, but as Harry had warned some people might do, Seamus did not even look at him. Jim decided to have a little fun, letting the irresponsible side of him - namely, the side that was rubbed off by Harry and Ron - take control.

"Yoo-hoo?" Jim asked, waving his arm in front of Seamus, while Dean watched on amusedly. "Anyone home?"

"Me mam told me not to speak to you," Seamus said shortly.

Jim blinked. "Whatever for?" He pretended not to know what he was talking about, then grimaced. His acting must be at least as good as Harry's. "Oh. The whole Voldemort and Oracle thing, is it?"

Seamus flinched at that name, but nodded.

"You think I'm delusional?" Jim asked curiously.

Seamus looked as if he wanted to be angry, but there was no reason for him to be since Jim had only been polite so far. "Me mam thinks that you probably had some sort of dementor-nightmare," Seamus said. "I'm inclined to agree."

Jim wanted to sock the kid in the face, but Ron had warned him against antagonizing the school any further. It would only reinforce their bias. "Fair enough," was what Jim said instead. "Then again, I have been getting instruction in Occlumency to stop nightmares and things."

"Oh," Seamus blinked. While Jim didn't outright admit he was delusional, he certainly wasn't expecting Jim to admit he was having nightmares.

"Anyway, the sorting is about to begin," Jim said, gesturing towards the head table where Dumbledore was discussing with McGonagall, carrying a worn hat. "Where the hell are the girls?"

"I'll have to take points off Hermione," Neville said in a tone that spoke of, to Jim's surprise, mischief. Dean and Seamus smirked as they wondered what Hermione's face would look like when the teacher's pet got points taken off for tardiness.

This might not be so bad, after all.

* * *

Zuzanna Brzęczyszczykiewicz did not like the head table. Especially not when she was made to sit next to Snape. On her right was the Arithmancy teacher, Professor Septima Vector, who was indeed a pleasure to make conversation with; Harry's knowledge of spellcrafting and magical forensics served him well. But, Snape seemed conflicted between disgust of Zuzanna's tight-fitting clothing and lust.

In hindsight, perhaps Harry should not have gone with red hair and green eyes; while the facial structure was completely different, those two features were also common to Professor Lily Potter sitting on the other end of the table.

"Why did you end up quitting magical law enforcement?" Septima Vector asked curiously. "And why Britain? I'm sure it would have been a lot easier in the other European nations, given the current political tensions here."

"I quit because I do not like taking orders," Zuzanna shrugged. She ignored Snape's snort from the other side, and Vector did too. "My supervisors were fools. My family is not rich, but we have invested in plenty of wealth in land and properties around Europe. My great-grandfather sold off most of our land in Poland in exchange for Britain, Switzerland, and Spain right before the Germans invaded our country. That meant I could travel mostly as I liked."

"Ah, that sounds wonderful indeed," Vector smiled. She could only be in her very early thirties, so the women were relatively close in age. Well, Harry's character was, anyway.

"Students," McGonagall called, and the chatter stopped. "We will begin the sorting. Please treat our newest family with respect."

And so, the sorting began. About eighty students in total, they took perhaps thirty minutes to sort. Zuzanna was bored out of her mind, so she decided to think back at what had happened in the meeting. Any teachers she hadn't met already as part of her introduction greeted her at the staff meeting - well, save Snape, who just glared sourly at her. That's alright, Zuzanna had plenty opportunity to glare right back.

Professors Sprout, Potter, and Flitwick had all been very welcoming and warm. Vector, since she'd been in charge of taking Zuzanna on tour, was also friendly, the two sharing knowledge and interest in Arithmancy. Binns hadn't even recognized her, but that wasn't a surprise. The new divination teacher, Firenze, had been unfailingly polite as he always was. Of the teachers who didn't know, Zuzanna suspected that Firenze was the only one with an inkling that she might be wearing a glamour, but he didn't comment on it.

Madam Hooch, as well as Professors Babbling, Sinistra and Grubbly-Plank, had all also been polite to her. She'd yet to really speak with them, so they weren't on friendly terms yet. All in all, though, it was going better than she'd expected. She hadn't had to curse Snape yet, or Umbridge, who seemed content to observe the meeting from a corner (except for occasionally glaring hatefully at Zuzanna who stole the DADA position out from under her). Zuzanna was worried she might have done the wrong thing teaching here, as it gave Umbridge more time to plot, but Dumbledore had assured her not to worry about it too much.

When the students were done sorting, Dumbledore made his announcements. He introduced her as 'Professor Zuzanna Brzęczyszczykiewicz' in perfect pronunciation - Zuzanna really shouldn't have been surprised - and then Professor Grubbly-Plank, filling in for Hagrid. Finally, when Umbridge was announced, Umbridge made her speech, just like last time, the exact same and just as boring.

Zuzanna twisted her neck to the side, leading to a series of crackling noises; Snape and Vector both started at this noise. Zuzanna gave no heed as she cracked her knuckles in black gloves. She really wished she didn't have to deal with all the damned brats - this was a flaw in her plan indeed, the fact that she had to _teach_ \- but that was alright. She might as well enjoy herself in the meantime.

She - Zuzanna - and he - Harry - was going to be the craziest motherfucker of a Defense professor in modern history.

* * *

Daphne Greengrass sat down at her usual seat in the DADA classroom. While the teachers were recycled every year, the classroom rarely changed. Beside her, Tracey sat. Tracey, who was secretly bisexual, was a little bit _too_ excited about this new teacher with an unpronounceable name.

Said teacher sat at the teacher's desk at the very front of the classroom, in front of two blackboards. Her cold blue eyes regarded the incoming students in a manner that resembled a vulture eater watching a dying animal. This was enough to silence most conversation led by students that were coming in. Daphne watched as cocky Malfoy, speaking loudly with Nott, became silent as they withered under the woman's gaze.

Daphne revised her opinion of the new teacher. Last night, at the head table, she'd looked like nothing more than a pretty face. Up close, the woman was a demon in disguise. And now that she thought about it? The woman didn't seem exactly… clean. Unlike Granger's magic, which was all sunshine and rainbows and pure, this woman's magic was... cold.

One's magic was a good indicator of their character, which was why her mother had drilled it into her to sense the magic of others.

Cold like arctic winds, biting at her skin, and tasting metallic like freshly spilled blood.

Daphne shuddered. Tracey noticed but didn't say anything.

The woman nodded to herself as she counted the students and glanced at the roll call, realizing all the students were here. She stood up, showing Daphne that she was not dressed like traditional witches in loose-hanging, thick robes; instead an almost skintight pair of leather trousers and a silk button-up shirt, all black, underneath a black coat. Daphne's keen eye told her that the trousers, boots, and coat were all made of dragon-leather.

She was a fighter, not a teacher.

"Welcome, students," she spoke with a hint of her native Polish accent. "My name is Professor Zuzanna Brzęczyszczykiewicz. I am generally not one for needless rules, but as your teacher, I expect to be respectfully called 'Professor Brzęczyszczykiewicz' and nothing else."

The students shuffled nervously as they pondered the impossibility of this task.

The woman's lips quirked, but Daphne noticed how it did not reach her eyes. "That is a joke, obviously. I will also accept 'Professor' and 'Miss'. A few other things I would like to mention. I understand that you have had many teachers, and your education, as a result, is haphazard. I will fix this, but that means I will be pushing you hard, especially for your OWL exams." Daphne picked up on how the woman said 'O-W-L' instead of like the animal, as with everyone else. "I am not one to give out many graded assessments, because it is a waste of time for both of us." The classed sighed in relief. "However," she interrupted, regarding the class coolly. "If you do not keep up with the class, you will regret it. I will also be giving out reading material to the class occasionally, bits of information and theory I believe you will find important for your examinations. I expect you to read them."

She paused, and spoke again. "I consider myself a practical teacher than a theory teacher. The theory is definitely important if you want to be a researcher. Not so much when fleeing from every dark creature known to mankind." Quiet chuckles resulted from that joke made on the textbook's expense. "I would like you to know that those textbooks were not assigned by me and I apologize for not being able to do anything about it. I believe they are useful enough to discuss the characteristics of dark creatures if nothing else. Otherwise, I will not be using it, as it is full of Ministry propaganda." She snorted. Daphne was surprised by the bluntness of the woman.

"Today is our first day. I would be lying if I said I had anything more than general outlines for this course. As such, I believe we can spend half of today's class going over the course outline on the blackboard. If you have any questions, do not interrupt but feel free to raise your hand and draw my attention…"

The class slowly relaxed in the teacher's presence as they inquired about the content of their semester, but Daphne did not. Her best friend realized this and leaned in with a whisper. "What's the matter?" She asked. "Is it her magic? Or her attitude?"

"Both," Daphne sighed. "I don't understand how Dumbledore could have wanted to hire someone like this. It goes against what he stands for."

Tracey stared at the teacher with new curiosity in her eyes. "Is she a dark witch?"

"Darker than most," Daphne agreed quietly and grimly. "If you excluded the foulness that radiates from the Dark Mark, I expect she'd feel darker than most Death Eaters."

"Oh dear," Tracey murmured.

"Did you have a question?" Professor Brzęczyszczykiewicz asked.

Daphne took a moment to realize the woman was referring to her. "No, Professor."

"Are you certain?" She smirked for the briefest moment, and Daphne felt shivers - no, rather, icicles freeze her spine. "If it is something private, you are more than welcome to remain after class ends and ask."

"Of course, Professor," Daphne managed to say.

"Very well. Getting back to the topic on hand…"

Tracey and Daphne did not speak at all for the remainder of the class, with both instead diligently taking notes. After the promised half-hour, the newest Professor began an introduction to Defense Against the Dark Arts and how she perceived it. Despite her earlier altercation with the professor, Daphne found it very interesting indeed, and partially because she had no idea how Dumbledore would approve of this.

"Defense Against the Dark Arts was once a subject relating to the survival of wizards and witches against magical creatures," she began, her hands behind her back. "Trolls were more commonplace, as were giants, direwolves, dragons, and so forth. Apex predators and how to escape them. But nowadays, that is different. The populations of magical creatures have become ever more predictable both in their habitat and danger. Society has specialized just enough to produce qualified magicians to deal with such threats. Instead, a new danger threatens modern magical society. That being, itself."

The woman's pale eyes glittered darkly. "Self-proclaimed Dark Lords have always existed, always wanting more and wanting to warp their gifts of magic into Lovecraftian nightmares." The non-Muggleborn, who evidently didn't understand the reference, didn't try to interrupt for clarification. "But it is only in modern history where they have become more violent and destructive. As Muggle populations rise and possibly threaten the boundaries of the magical world, extremists have propped themselves up as saviors and tried to lead many a crusade."

They all knew who in particular she was referring to.

"A cycle of devastation accelerated by Grindelwald's rise to infamy in the 1930s. An attempted genocide disguised as a glorious, holy war encouraged by Magic herself. And to keep up this image, to pretend that they are blessed, the leaders of these movements will commit further atrocities of magic. That is why we reside in this classroom. So you can learn from me, how to deal with the greatest threat to magical society in today's day and age." She smiled, her lips pulled thin. "Dark Magicians."

"And to do so, we must be as ruthless and cunning as the ones who have dared to complete apotheosis," she said coldly. "We will not get there by being squeamish of so-called Dark Magic. Magic is magic and it is only when we dare to bend it to our will instead of channeling its nature that it becomes enslavement of magic, a crime, a sin. Thus, I will not hesitate to introduce you to the knowledge that may eventually save your life from the biggest threat to modern magical society. Whether you choose to use it or not is up to you."

Daphne watched the reactions of her classmates. Draco Malfoy should be rejoicing that he'd gotten a teacher that was both attractive and willing to teach the Dark Arts, but somehow he just seemed terrified. Hermione Granger certainly wasn't enthused, and looked like she wanted to argue. Jim Potter had a curiously blank face. He certainly wasn't… angry, but there was something he was hiding and Daphne didn't know what.

When the woman's eyes rolled over the utterly silent students and settled on Daphne, cold blue eyes meeting its kin, Daphne shivered again.

* * *

Zuzanna watched her classroom file out of the room. When they were gone, and she was absolutely certain they were far enough away, she sighed, crashing down into her chair, and allowed Harry's personality to return, give him a reprieve from his actor's role. For good measure, he removed the silver and opal ring on his right index finger, the object that anchored his glamour, and returned to his normal appearance.

He'd sincerely enjoyed scaring the wits out of his year-mates. Even the Slytherins, who would have scoffed if it were Harry Stark speaking, remained silent and perturbed. And the fact that he'd had a staring contest with Daphne Greengrass, Queen of Slytherin, and won! Twice! That in itself was an achievement to brag of.

He was also surprised she hadn't guessed his identity already. He knew for a fact that Daphne was magically sensitive. Perhaps he'd misjudged her magical sensitivity? While he had indeed made a conscious decision to mask his magical signature through the use of a different wand as well as regulation of his magical osmosis, it still shouldn't be difficult for someone worth their salt to at least find Zuzanna's scent familiar.

Oh, well. That wasn't important at this point. More important was, teaching these ungrateful kids how to protect themselves, while dodging Umbridge in the process.

And, perhaps, indirectly convincing Jim to fight with his life rather than only with his morals.

Fuck, this was difficult.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen**

Ron was having a good time. Unlike most apprentices, Ron wasn't that busy. Really, all he actually needed to do was write up the exact same paper he did in his original world and then pretend that he was doing the research. He'd already spent three days during the holidays writing it up to the best of his memory, and double-checking the facts in the Black library. His research paper, in essence, was already completed.

Meaning he had more time to do much more relevant and productive things, like discuss with the gentlemen in Gryffindor about which teachers in Hogwarts were the most attractive. Wouldn't it shock them to learn that the consistent number one position was, in fact, a fifty-year-old man catfishing all of them with a glamour?

"What about Sinistra?" Dean said, referring to the professor of astronomy.

"Number two," Seamus said firmly. "She's pretty, but she's got nothing on… you-know-who."

Ron smirked. He'd started the practice of calling Zuzanna Brzęczyszczykiewicz 'you-know-who' because seriously, who the hell could pronounce that? There was one half-Polish girl who struggled, but just managed to pronounce it in one breath in the third year, apparently, and there was Dumbledore, but that left about six hundred others who couldn't.

Wouldn't Lord Voldemort just _love_ to hear that his nickname created through fear was now being applied to someone with a name designed to piss people off?

"Right, gentlemen," Ron said, standing up. "Think I'll go back to my room now."

That was another good thing about apprenticeships; they got a room immediately beside their teacher's rooms. Meaning he could afford to be a little more careless about his nudity and subsequently showing off his metal arm. As he left, he heard Jim's indignant cries after someone raised Professor Potter to the number three position.

When he returned to his small room, Katie was waiting for him, with a rather grave expression on her face. It was so unlike her that Ron forgot for a moment who she was, but eventually, he managed. "Katie?" He wondered. "What are you doing?"

"I was waiting for you," she said. "And I wanted to speak to you."

"Sure," Ron replied, and opened the door to his room. He gestured for her to come in and he held the door as she did so. "What about?"

"About the contents of this letter."

Ron sucked air in through his teeth as he recognized the same letter he'd written for Katie in the event he died during his struggle with Voldemort. He hadn't died, so he'd expected Katie to do as he'd asked and burn the thing. This… this was going to be a little bit complicated.

"I don't frankly care that you're… all these weird things," Katie hesitated. "It took me a few days to come to terms that I'm dating someone with a mental age of fifty… but I realized I don't care." She took a deep breath. "But what I need to know is, is our relationship real? Or is it something 'extra' that you have so you can have fun on the side while you do your thing?"

Ron stepped forward. "I'm not that cruel, you know. I may not be the best with women - since Harry is the best - but I treat them with respect. Or I like to think so. I wouldn't do that with you, or with anyone else even if it weren't you."

Katie sighed in relief and sagged down on Ron's bed. "I'm glad to hear that… you don't know how painful it was waiting for that to come from you. I was afraid you weren't taking us seriously as I was."

"Never."

"I realize that now. I shouldn't have doubted it," Katie smiled slightly. "So. In this letter, you tell me you're a time-traveler. I'm guessing Harry is one too, even if it doesn't specify?"

"Yeah," Ron smiled wistfully. "My best mate since we were eleven. That means we've known each other for forty-ish years now."

"I can't believe the only reason you've been doing well in school was because you've done all of it already," Katie grumbled.

"Oh, please. Do you know how boring it is sitting around here and going to History of Magic all over again? I'm suffering more than you are. Thankfully, not anymore, because I'm doing a Mastery."

"And I'm guessing you're just paraphrasing an old Mastery paper, as well?"

"How'd you guess?" Ron smirked.

Katie flashed a smile, but it soon disappeared when Ron removed his gloves. Ron realized his mistake; Katie had not seen his prosthetic yet, nor received an explanation. Perhaps Katie was expecting scars - she was bound to have noticed the way he never took off his gloves - but she was definitely not expecting a prosthetic, judging by the way her eyes widened to the size of saucers.

"Ron," she said in an oddly high-pitched voice, "why is your arm silver?"

Ron sighed as he removed his robe and shirt. Katie stared uncomfortably at the arm. "It's a fairly short story," Ron shrugged, sitting down next to Katie (he pretended not to notice her lean away from him ever so slightly). "Voldemort fired a blood-freezing curse at me, and I couldn't get out of the way in time. I got hit in the arm. I had to amputate it before the curse spread to the rest of my body."

"Was there no other option?" Katie asked.

"Not at the moment. I was in the midst of dueling Voldemort." Katie's eyes widened at that. "I thought I might be able to take him on, but he was a lot stronger than either Harry or I expected. I vanished my arm and my blood because otherwise, Voldemort can use blood-based curses on me. Not wand-curses, but voodoo curses and the like."

"You chopped off your own arm and vanished it," Katie said, sounding sick.

"Yes," Ron confirmed. "So I used a conjuration spell to restore my arm. Although the teachers would tell you it's dark magic and whatnot - as if I'll wear a hook like a pirate. That's why I've been hiding it."

"You used dark magic?" Katie asked softly.

"All the time, Katie. I can't fight the most powerful dark wizard of our age using only so-called light spells." Ron flexed his metal arm. "I'm pretty sure I threw around a few unforgivable curses in that duel." Katie gasped and Ron rolled his eyes. "Don't look at me like that. Not everyone can be as skilled in combat as Dumbledore, you know. I needed the fight to end quickly or I would have died."

"Right," Katie said, still somewhat nervous. "If you didn't kill Voldemort, then how did the fight end?"

"I summoned the Triwizard - Septawizard - cup over to myself, Harry and Jim," Ron shrugged. "It was a portkey. It was foolish of them not to put up anti-portkey wards."

"Okay," Katie said.

"You're not certain what to think of me anymore," Ron predicted.

"No, it's not…" Katie sighed. "Maybe. I don't really know what to think."

"I'll leave you up to your thinking, I suppose," Ron said. The silence that followed was not as comfortable as Ron had hoped.

Katie stood abruptly. "I won't tell anyone else, I promise. But I need some time to process all this… the fact that you fought You-Know-Who, the fact that you voluntarily amputated your arm and used dark magic to make a replacement…"

"I understand," Ron said, although he really didn't. Did it change him so fundamentally to use dark magic once in a while? And in a life-or-death situation, no less?

"I'll see you soon, Ron," Katie said, and left the room.

Ron sighed, covered his face in his hands. One side was warm with blood and flesh, while the other was cold as steel.

* * *

"Welcome, professors. Make yourselves comfortable," Dumbledore said.

Zuzanna sat down in a transfigured armchair, one of the less gaudy ones created by McGonagall rather than Dumbledore. She also discreetly cast shrinking charms on the other chairs. They would shrink by 10% over the course of five excruciatingly slow minutes so that nobody noticed. The only time they'd realize, at least in her mind, would be when they finally stood up to adjourn and they realized how pinched their bottoms were.

Zuzanna hid her smirk.

She also took an opportunity where Dumbledore was quickly remedying a 'mistake' (where he forgot to conjure an extra chair for an irritated Umbridge) to cast a switching charm on the contents of a glass bowl sitting beside Fawkes' perch. Without anyone realizing, the lemon drops were switched into raspberry drops.

Greetings from Sirius Black, _bitch_.

"Welcome," Dumbledore beamed again. "Professor Brzęczyszczykiewicz, Inquisitor Umbridge-" the two women nodded, "-the purpose of the first meeting is to discuss if there are any early problems within classes that need to be addressed, or if we should be keeping an eye out for certain students, for good or for bad. Minerva?"

"I haven't had any problems with my students so far," McGonagall said. "The first-years are eager to learn although they are a little overwhelmed, as usual."

"Same with charms," Flitwick supplied. "Although I have noticed there are more NEWT students than I usually expect. Twice as more, in fact. I'm a little surprised but I doubt it'll cause too many problems."

"All the first-years are dunderheads," Snape said sourly. "End report."

"One would almost think they're taking after someone," Zuzanna muttered, and a few of the professors smirked behind their hands.

"The usual for me as well," Sinistra said. "A lot of the kids are tired after their first lesson, and there were three annoying brats this time who bragged how they weren't tired because their parents _always_ let them stay up as long as they liked."

"Oh, Merlin, _those_ kids," Vector said disgustedly.

"The ones with a gap between their front teeth and hairstyles copied directly from professional Quidditch players?" Zuzanna asked.

"Oh, goodness, just _how_ did you know?" Sinistra said sarcastically, and the professors chuckled. "But yes. I think everyone is doing quite well. A few of the purebloods are getting culture shock again, with all that stuff about Muggles going to the moon and that."

"Muggles went to the moon?" Umbridge scoffed.

"Human beings have walked on the surface of the moon, yes," Sinistra responded with infinite patience. "Without the aid of magic, naturally."

"That's preposterous."

"Indeed," Zuzanna agreed. "We all know for certain that Earth is flat and located at the center of the solar system, with the moon being an illusion caused by differing atmospheric pressures, a mirage much similar to seeing water in a desert."

"Precisely," Umbridge nodded. Everyone stared at her for a bit before they decided to ignore her entirely.

"And Zuzanna?" Dumbledore prompted. "How are you finding the noble profession of teaching?"

Zuzanna shrugged. "The first-years are boring. It gets more interesting the more your students actually know about it. They however all seem quite naive to the realities of the world. I am taking steps to correct that."

"Oh?"

"They seem to believe they are capable of more than they actually are, that their current abilities would be able to compete with that of a dragon handler or Auror," Zuzanna explained. "I am slowly shattering their dreams and ambitions by mercilessly beating them in front of their classmates."

The professors all stared at her but Dumbledore nodded, humming happily. "Good, good. Children don't need such silly notions in their heads all the way to adulthood. Adulthood is about misery and suffering and they must learn sooner rather than later. Pomona?"

Professor Sprout took a moment to realize she was being addressed. "Everything seems to be going well, thank you. Millicent Bulstrode recently stumbled by accident into Greenhouse Six, got into fisticuffs with the venomous tentacula, and somehow won. The highly venomous plant now shies away from her whenever she enters the greenhouse."

Everyone sort of stared. This was becoming tiring, so Dumbledore got the house elves to serve biscuits and tea and coffee. The atmosphere was much nicer after that, except for two dark, shadowy corners in which either Severus Snape or Dolores Umbridge sat alone.

"What are you actually teaching your students, Zuzanna?" Vector asked with some concern.

Zuzanna shrugged. "I am teaching them the destructive spells preferred by the Dark Lord and his followers, and how to counter them."

"_Hem hem_," someone cleared their throat and Zuzanna stifled a groan. "Do you truly find that necessary when the Dark Lord is completely, certainly, without a _hint_ of a doubt, very dead and very gone?"

"But not all of his Death Eaters are gone," Zuzanna said pointedly. Before Umbridge could complain, Zuzanna had thought of something to back her into a corner. "And what if the children encounter, say, the infamous Fenrir Greyback? Should I have instructed them to _run away_ as Wilbert Slinkhard has, despite the fact that a werewolf, in both its human and wolf forms, can run 50% faster than the average human, is at least 50% stronger, and have a heightened sense of aggression?"

Sorry, Professor Lupin. But watching Umbridge's internal struggle, the endless war between her hatred of Jim Potter and her hatred of half-breeds was too much fun. She was concentrating so hard she was going cross-eyed. Zuzanna turned away because if she didn't, Umbridge might see her desperately contained smile. Vector and Sinistra were covering their mouths, for whatever reason.

In the background, Dumbledore popped a red-colored candy into his mouth and choked.

Zuzanna pretended not to notice as Dumbledore struggled to retain his frigid smile as McGonagall spoke to him about logistical matters. Professor Flitwick took one of the candies and found that he liked it, it tasted much better from the nasty stuff that he'd been offered on his first day of teaching, years and years ago. Had his taste changed over the years? Perhaps these _lemon drops_ weren't so bad after all.

"What about you, Professor Potter?" Zuzanna asked. Even Harry's own pseudo-mother did not see any resemblance between her pseudo-son and the Polish redheaded supermodel standing before her, not even a subconscious resemblance like _oh she chews her nails when she's nervous, my son does that_. "How goes your classes?"

"Perfectly fine, Professor," Lily Potter said coolly. "My kids are very well behaved. I was recently teaching them about the curvature of the planet and how Muggles have launched cameras into space to take better photographs of stars."

Zuzanna blinked. Surely Lily was intelligent enough to hear sarcasm when she heard it? Indeed, Vector, who'd overheard, was staring, confused, at Lily Potter. "I see. I'm certain they'd find it fascinating, would they not?"

"They would," Lily agreed. "Isn't it wonderful, the way children can soak up knowledge like a sponge - while many magical adults are so _inflexible_ and _rigid_ that they cannot bear to hear things that do not align with their beliefs."

Was Zuzanna being criticized? She sincerely didn't understand. "Ah, yes."

"Are you feeling well, Lily?" Septima Vector asked, concerned.

"Of course, Septima," Lily responded, her gaze still settled on Zuzanna. "I'm just hoping our newest professor will find this school a learning experience as much as the students do."

As Lily trounced - _trounced_ \- away, Septima Vector patted the new professor's arm. "Don't worry, dear," Septima said quietly. "Before you came along, she was known as the most attractive redhead in the school. Perhaps she's a bit jealous." Then Vector winked.

Zuzanna's - Harry's - jaw dropped. Then he burst into laughter. His own mother, jealous of how attractive he was as a _woman_? There were - there were so many things wrong with that, and this was just too funny. He couldn't stop even when a few professors including Lily and Snape glared at him. Then again, Snape had been staring at _Zuzanna_ during the opening feast, hadn't he?

"Oh, God," Harry wheezed, forgetting his character for a moment.

"Care to share, Professor?" Lily asked frostily.

"My apologies," Zuzanna said, regaining control of her thin-lipped smile and her taut facial expressions. "I believe I was carried away by Septima's sense of humor. Please, carry on."

Zuzanna watched with her lips quirked only the barest amount, the slightest hint of her amusement, as Lily Potter glared at an indignant-looking Septima Vector, and walked away. So, Harry's own mother was jealous of Harry's alter ego, Snape was attracted to it yet at the same time shared Lily's jealousy, and 99% of the populace could not pronounce her name. All she needed now was to get Fred and George on board.

_This will be a fun year_, Harry and Zuzanna thought.

* * *

Fleur sized up Hogwarts' newest Defence professor. She looked her up and down, and all the while the figure stood as still as a statue. The woman was not a Veela, but it would not have surprised Fleur if she was. She was very attractive indeed.

She could see the resemblances to where Harry had drawn inspiration. Aside from the color, the eyes and nose shape were similar to that of her own. The fact that Harry had considered her a source of inspiration for the purposes of drawing a pretty face was somewhat flattering.

However, she could not see any resemblance of her boyfriend in terms of mannerisms. Her boyfriend was almost always casual - generally standing at ease, sitting with his legs kicked up. The woman before her was standing at attention, feet shoulder-width apart, staring straight ahead without any apparent concern about the nosy Veela.

Eventually, though, the frosty alter ego cracked an embarrassed smile when Fleur pressed her hands to her chest, examining them. "'Arry," Fleur exclaimed. "You've grown tits!"

"So I have," Harry smirked. God, that smirk was so infuriatingly _hot_ on the face of a woman like that. _Not that it's not attractive on Harry himself_, Fleur added quickly in her mind. "They're one size bigger than yours. I've checked."

"How?" Fleur asked. "Are you a metamorphmagus?"

"I'm not," Harry admitted. "It's a mixture of human transfiguration and glamour. The bodily structure is all transfiguration. The skin color, hair color, and fine details like pores are all glamours. All tied to this ring," he held up his feminine left hand and the simple silver band on his index finger, "and it took me a whole week to arrange the spells. It was difficult, but I had a good source of inspiration to go by, so it wasn't as hard as it would have been."

"I see," Fleur hummed. She paused. "How do you pee?"

"Sitting down," Harry answered with a smirk.

"Do you have a menstrual cycle now?"

"No. I'm infertile as a woman," Harry responded.

"Shame," Fleur purred. "I wouldn't mind a few little redhead beauties popping out of you."

Harry stared at her.

"Er, well," Fleur said awkwardly. "Ignore that. Anyway, we agreed to a date today, yes?"

"Yes," Harry replied, equally awkwardly.

The two of them walked to Harry's office (decorated with torture instruments of various natures - such as a cat o' nine tails, a ball gag, a ping-pong paddle, and a collection of rather veiny-looking truncheons as well as a military-green cylindrical object about eight inches long) where Harry removed his ring, taking off his female disguise and returning to the roguish, black-haired boy that Fleur had fallen in love with.

While Harry took a quick shower and a change of clothes to prepare for their outing, Fleur explored more of the office. She found a calendar for the previous year that included a photoshoot of one Ronald Stark, and she flipped through the calendar with mixed fascination and horror. And that _bikini_! If Fleur wore something like that, her mother would die of shame.

Harry returned, dressed in Muggle fashion. He wore a pair of slim-fitting, olive chino pants, a slightly baggy violet-colored hoodie, and a pair of off-white Converses. It was an unusual combination of colors, but it looked good. Fleur sized him up appreciatively.

"You look good," she notified him.

"Thank you," he grinned. "So, have you got anything planned?"

"Not really," Fleur admitted. "I was thinking a brunch, perhaps, then we could go window-shopping, and then we can go have dinner…"

"Or I could take you to a waterpark," Harry grinned.

"A waterpark?" Fleur said suspiciously. She didn't like just how eagerly Harry nodded.

* * *

Perhaps the biggest reason Harry took her to a waterpark was so that he could see her in a bikini again. She didn't really mind, especially since he paid for her in purchasing a new set with cute floral patterns on it. She got stares from everyone - rather lustful ones from the men and rather jealous ones from the women. Not that Harry noticed. He was too busy tugging on her hand like an excited child and pulling her to one ride or another.

The particular park they'd gone to prided themselves on two water-slides, one of which was two-hundred meters long. The other was forty meters shorter but was wide enough for two people on a raft to go down together.

Fleur had had her doubts and had been sincerely terrified the first time she'd gone down. But after watching Harry giggle like a schoolchild, she'd been determined to go down again with him, and maybe a little bit? She could see how people might enjoy this thing. On the third ride down, she'd genuinely enjoyed herself and suggested to a beaming Harry that they go down again.

They then spent a few lazy hours in the pool, where they swam slowly without the pressure of having to save someone else from its murky depths in the _middle of fucking February_. Despite being a creature of fire with no real affinity to water, Fleur was apparently a faster diver and swimmer than Harry was. Harry had more stamina, though, and could catch up to Fleur soon enough - at which point he'd rather indiscreetly grope her.

Finally, as the sun went down, the two of them challenged other couples in games of beach volleyball. Fleur didn't know the rules but picked it up quickly enough and the two _dominated_. Between Harry's actual experience and Fleur's Veela-led athleticism, they made for a formidable pair and they were only defeated once.

Right now they were having dinner in a buffet inside their hotel. It was a four-star hotel and could have been a lot worse. In this hotel, Fleur was greeted with the concept of televisions and radio. And the concept of cartoons, too, as _The Simpsons_ came on screen. Fleur needed help to understand the American accent occasionally, but enjoyed it nonetheless.

"So," Fleur said, as Harry returned with his plate filled high with different kinds of food. "You said you needed to speak to me about something?"

"Yes," he said, and hesitated. "It's not an easy thing to talk about."

"That's alright," Fleur said encouragingly. "I'll listen to you."

Whatever she was expecting, this wasn't it. "I'm a time traveler."

He outlined how he and Ron, disillusioned with their lives, jumped through the Veil in an attempt to return to where they were before. How they discovered Harry's parents were alive, how he had _siblings_, how he could make friends with people he previously didn't know. How he wanted to stop Voldemort's resurrection before everyone he loved were killed or lost but he _failed_ because of his own damned arrogance!

Fleur looked on him silently. "I don't think you should keep hurting yourself like that," she said quietly, and he looked up.

"What do you mean?"

"If you had been more active, you could have stopped Voldemort, yes. But I can understand," she smiled slightly. "You had managed to find your best friends again after losing them. I can understand why you were distracted. I can understand - after how bad you found life in your old world - why you'd want to spend some time being happy."

"You're not mad at me?"

"_Non_, why would I be?" Fleur laughed. "You have already started training Jim Potter, all his friends and even his younger sister for the eventual battle, yes? I have also heard that Ronald is reaching out to the children of Death Eaters with the plan of redeeming them."

She leaned forward. "Nobody has any right to get upset at you for doing too little. You could have chosen to do nothing and left everyone to their own. You have already helped. Nobody can blame you for that, just as nobody can blame James for being a child of prophecy and not defeating Voldemort yet."

Harry remained silent for some time, his food untouched. Then he smiled. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, 'Arry."

"If only I'd dated you last time, instead of Bill Weasley," Harry sighed.

Fleur scrunched up her nose. "William Weasley? That man who can't seem to give up, even though I must have told him that I have a boyfriend ten times by now? _I dated him_?"

"You married him, in fact."

Fleur gagged, and Harry laughed.

* * *

Apologies for the recent chapters. I know that many of you have found the past few chapters a little off-key compared to the general theme of the story at the beginning. I admit I have sacrificed humor for the sake of character conflicts and whatnot, and I have also found myself at a writer's block beginning fifth year. I'd hoped that I could try and separate the humor from the seriousness by separating them into _Through the Veil _and _Stranger_ but I've found it's not that easy. I'll do my very best regardless to bring back some of the humor from the early chapters, even if Voldemort is back and everyone's a bit tense.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter Sixteen**

Daphne Greengrass was on her way to the library.

Strangely enough, the newest professors had actually been quite decent. Lupin was mild-mannered and patient; Moody was the exact opposite, but knowledgeable; and the newest… you-know-who was also knowledgeable, but judging from her aura, while Moody only used dark curses for demonstration and nothing else, the woman probably _did_ use them on people she didn't like.

Or students who didn't complete the assigned reading. Which was why Daphne was going to the library right now. Since classes had been cancelled for today, Halloween, Daphne would be required to read it by the next day, on Wednesday.

The newest defense professor had proved to be challenging. She was very guarded, both in terms of how she acted and how she spoke. Daphne, who had been taught from a young age to read people, was not able to discern much of her. Her body language said that the woman was a soldier. Not a warrior, but a soldier, used to working in teams and carrying out orders. But how would she be a soldier? Was she an Auror like Moody? As far as Daphne knew, the last international magical conflict was Grindelwald's War, and since then only regional conflicts had occurred.

She was snapped out of her reverie by one of the suits of armor.

"Hey, girl!" It called in an American-sounding voice, pointing clearly at her with its halberd. "Smile a little! Then maybe you would have more facial expressions than the very desks you sit at in class."

Daphne whipped around and presented the suit of armor with a bright, fake smile, and immediately felt foolish for doing so at a now immobile decoration. A few younger girls giggled as they walked past, glancing at her. Daphne ground her teeth silently. She was prepared to snap at them, but she needn't have worried.

"Found that funny did you? I'm surprised, considering all of you have the collective IQ of a cabbage."

The suit of armor settled again. The group of girls stared at it open-mouthed. Daphne snorted quietly before turning away and making her way to the library again. She was surprised; apparently, most, if not all, the suits of armor had been enchanted to insult people. While Daphne, the Ice Queen of Slytherin, would have liked to say that she didn't mind them, she did feel quite irritated at a few of them.

"I admire your tenacity, being a nun must be hard!"

"Heading to the library, are you? Don't bother; they don't have relationship advice in there."

"You'll never be as smart as Hermione Granger."

As she entered the library, she heard a stone gargoyle mutter, "I hate them, I hate them, _I hate the suits of armor_." Well, wasn't that nice to know? Daphne rolled her eyes and began looking for the book in question. The professor usually gave out printed sheets to every person, but Daphne enjoyed any excuse that led her to the library.

She was surprised to find Harry Stark browsing the exact book that she was looking for. She hadn't seen Stark for some time, and hadn't expected him to be at school anymore. After all, his adopted brother had advanced onto his Mastery - it wouldn't have shocked her to learn that Harry had left already.

"Stark?" She said. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, Daphne," he greeted. He obviously didn't bother subscribing to the notion of formality and surnames between students. "I was just glancing through some of the books that I might be using to help build Professor Brzęczyszczykiewicz her lesson plans."

"You're her assistant?" Daphne blinked.

"Ron and myself, yes. But Ron is doing his Mastery while I am not, so I have a little more time to spare," Harry answered. "Now I'm looking for books that might be suitable for next week. This one might do…"

"Do you look for books every week?" Daphne asked.

"Yes. One book per class, every week, for every class between fourth and NEWT year," Harry confirmed. "The first three years don't have to do it yet, because frankly everything they're doing until then are common-sense or common-knowledge things. Did you already go through the assigned reading or did you need this for that purpose?" Harry held the book out in front of her.

"I read through it," Daphne said. "I just like to read through the rest of the document where it came from and see if there's anything else of note."

"Nerd," Harry smirked as he handed Daphne the book. "I'm done with it now, so you can have it."

"Did you charm all the suits of armor to insult people?" Daphne asked.

Harry snorted. "I charmed a quarter of them. That leaves three quarters."

"Three other people," Daphne said. "Ron Stark, Weasley twins. How did I do?"

"Got it in one," he said, with that silly smile still adorning his face. "Don't take them too seriously, they're only designed to make people laugh. In fact, we're planning something a lot worse with them later, so don't get too upset already."

"What are you planning, Stark?" Daphne narrowed her eyes, and Harry shrugged.

"Who knows. Excited for the Halloween feast?" Harry asked.

"I suppose. Why?"

"The Weasley twins have found it much more exciting ever since we told them about the Muggle culture of trick-or-treating," Harry grinned, and then explained for the confused Daphne. "Essentially, there is a culture where children dress up in costumes on Halloween night - whether it be superheroes or celebrities or monsters or Aurors - and go around their neighborhood asking for treats. If they don't get anything, they get to prank that household."

"Oh, no," Daphne said quietly. "Merlin save us all."

"Exactly. Or, you could join us and watch everyone else panic?" Harry offered.

Daphne raised her eyebrows at that. She hadn't expected Harry Stark, perhaps the most boisterous Gryffindor since Gryffindor himself, to be willing to consort with a 'slimy snake' on a pranking celebration. "I don't have a costume."

"Then it's a good thing you're a witch and you can cast glamours, isn't it?" Harry said, raising a mocking eyebrow, and Daphne glared at him.

"Who else is going?"

"All three Weasleys, Ron, Katie Bell, Luna Lovegood, we also managed to pressure Draco Malfoy into doing it."

"Malfoy?" Daphne blinked.

"Yeah. We promised we'd stop calling him Lucius if he joined," Harry shrugged. Daphne understood. Ron Stark had started calling Daphne 'Astoria' and Astoria 'Daphne' since last year even though they didn't look anything alike, and _Merlin_ it was annoying. She supposed that might be a large enough boon for Malfoy to be tempted.

"So, wanna join?" Harry grinned that lopsided grin of his - the one Daphne cataloged well in her mind as the '_one he uses when he really wants a female to do something for him_'. Why did he really want her to join them, though? It wasn't as if she were - well - _entertaining_. Entertainment came from the Weasley twins and the Stark brothers and watching Snape docking points from Gryffindor for the most ridiculous reasons. Not from serious, poker-faced Daphne.

"What do I get out of it?"

"Seriously? The most fun you've had so far into this school year isn't enough for you?" Harry smirked. "Can you retain that mask even when you're witnessing comedy heaven, I wonder?"

The mask. It was the _mask_. Harry Stark was inviting her at a whim because he wanted to crack through her mask, to see what was underneath. _To know her better_.

Daphne blushed bright red and Harry seemed a little confused.

"I'll join," Daphne said, hating herself for blushing. "What time should we meet? Where? Already in costume?"

"We've arranged to meet up at five o'clock, one hour after class ends, at Flitwick's classroom," Harry said. "Come in costume, but cast a disillusionment or something so you don't spoil your surprise on the way there." He then grinned. "By the way? No costume is too outrageous."

"No costume is too outrageous," Daphne smiled back slightly. If she were going to do this, she might as well do it _properly_.

* * *

Draco Malfoy had more experience with Venetian masked balls than he did with this Muggle Halloween event. As a result, when he was told to dress as a certain person, profession or pop culture reference, he struggled.

He'd eventually settled on taking the mickey out of good ol' Jim and dressed up as Jim Potter, from the acclaimed children's novel _Jim Potter and the Queen of Hearts_, something anyone with a slight knowledge of the Muggle world would recognize as a shameless rip-off of _Alice in Wonderland_. Draco was torn between wearing the inevitably embarrassing outfit or shaming Jim with it. With Harry and Ron's urging, the latter won out.

Draco had therefore arrived at the scheduled meeting place wearing red stockings and a handbasket full of magical stones that Jim Potter's nanny had given him before he set off on his quest. Just to make sure everyone knew he was mocking Jim Potter rather than cross-dressing, he carried a copy of the novel. When he arrived, he was a little early, earlier than most.

There were two young men at the room. They turned around and saw him carrying a copy of _Jim Potter and the Queen of Hearts_, looked at his costume, and burst into laughter. Draco himself smirked as the two plucked the novel from his fingers and grinned like fools over the cover art and the distinctly scarred boy dressed like Red Riding Hood.

"Looks like you didn't need any help," One young man said with a smooth voice. "Seems you've got the Halloween spirit just so."

"Which one of you is which?" Draco asked. The two young men had similar features, but definitely different. Both had caramel-colored hair, swept to the side, and both had blue eyes. However, one was distinctly taller and had a more Eastern European composition of his face, his features being sharper in many ways.

"I'm Ron," the taller one said.

"I'm Harry," the one who'd spoken earlier said.

"Figures that the midget would stay the midget," Draco snarked.

"And figures that you, just like everyone else, would dress up as their idol," Harry snarked back.

"Who are you meant to be, anyway?"

"Tom Riddle," Harry replied.

"Gellert Grindelwald," Ron said, and Draco blinked.

"Well, now that you mention it…" Draco murmured. "But who's Tom Riddle?"

"You probably already know him, by his stage name at least," Harry said.

"…Myron Wagtail from the Weird Sisters?"

Harry/Tom rolled his eyes as the door opened to admit two more people. This… had to be Luna Lovegood. There was no way there was anyone else insane enough or completely oblivious to dress up as Godric Gryffindor, who was apparently a _furry_ judging by the lion suit adorned with the Gryffindor coat of arms.

"Luna, why are you in a fursuit?" Harry/Tom asked.

"Because it's Godric Gryffindor's fursona!" Luna said cheerfully, though her words were somewhat muffled.

"You're going to start a civil war, Luna."

"Oh good, I can't wait," Luna said. "All the White Knights of Gryffindor will stand up for the honor of their circle-jerk."

Grindelwald rolled his eyes as Riddle smirked. "Sirius would not be pleased."

"Sirius abandoned his friends, and most importantly me, so he could go to Spain with a colony of veela," Luna said with surprising dryness. "I don't think he's in a position to be upset."

"Wait," Malfoy said. "Didn't you say he was doing research about apparition or whatever?"

"Did you really take Sirius as the bookish type?" Riddle raised an eyebrow at him. Draco ignored it.

The door crashed open and the candles were blown out by magical wind. Fog started rolling in from the doorway and two tall figures stepped through. Riddle and Grindelwald watched in mild amusement as Draco rolled his eyes. The candles sputtered back to life, encasing the Weasley twins in a hellish light.

One was dressed as Cornelius Fudge, while the other was dressed as Dolores Umbridge.

"All hail!" A deep, bass voice erupted from Umbridge's throat that was so contrasting with Umbridge's _actual_ voice that the other three boys and one girl snorted. "Hail for the Minister! Hail Britain!"

"I'm impressed," Luna said. "The dimensions are spot on."

"Obviously," Fred(George?) said.

"Well, we only guessed," George(Fred?) said.

"Both of them are big enough that as long as you look spherical, you look quite accurate," they said.

"Fascinating," Draco said drolly. "The sciences of artificially creating a suck-up and a toad."

The two bureaucrats sniggered. "You might not be so bad, Malfoy."

"Especially with that costume."

"Thank you," Draco replied. "Are we waiting on anyone else?"

"Three people, I think," Riddle said. "We're waiting on Ginny Weasley-"

"Sorry I'm late!" Ginny crashed through the door on a broom. She was wearing the red and white uniforms of the Harpies. "I'm Samantha Blackwater! What do you think?"

"Very nice, Ginny," Luna said sincerely. "It helps you both have similar features."

"Thank you," Ginny grinned, before looking confused. "Er, what are you meant to be, Luna?"

"Godric Gryffindor," Luna said happily, and then mischievously: "or more accurately, the side of him he didn't want anyone to see."

"You're mad," Ginny said flatly.

"What are you ladies and gentlemen doing here?" A dangerous voice said.

Everyone whipped around to face Professor McGonagall. Her lips were pulled into a frown, as her eyes glanced across Luna's fursuit, Draco cross-dressing, and the Minister and his toad. Harry realized, when McGonagall didn't recognize his disguise, that she wasn't the real McGonagall.

"Er," Ginny said awkwardly. "We can explain."

"I'm sure you could, but I don't want to hear it," McGonagall sniffed irritably. "While we at Hogwarts don't shame anyone for their kinks-"

"We're not being kinky!" Draco said, his face heating up.

McGonagall coughed. Then she doubled over laughing, clutching her stomach and bursting into giggles. Everyone except Harry and Ron blinked before Luna finally guessed, "Katie?"

"And here I thought I'd have the worst disguise of the bunch," Katie said, and with one more look at Draco, burst into heaving laughter again. The others laughed nervously as they watched Katie have a seizure and tears spilled from her eyes. Eventually, Ron just decided to calm her down as best he could.

"Oh, Merlin," Katie wheezed. "That's _Jim Potter and the Queen of Hearts_, right? I wish I'd thought of that… and is that a Godric Gryffindor fursuit?"

"How did you know?" Luna said, pleased.

"Because I attended one of those conventions once - not _dressed_ in one, I swear!" She added hastily as Ron began to scoot away from her with fear in his eyes. "I actually saw one of those… well, actually, it might have been you…"

"Possibly," Luna chuckled.

"We're just waiting for Daphne Greengrass, now," Harry/Riddle said. "So, Draco, what do you think she's dressed as?"

"Seeing as she's the Ice Queen of Slytherin, I would suspect something regal and suited for a woman of her noble status," Draco said, although in reality, he was wondering the same thing.

"Well, she's three minutes and twenty-seven seconds late," Ron/Grindelwald said.

"Well, I apologize for that," a rather familiar voice said.

It was Myron Wagtail.

Draco's jaw dropped - and he wasn't the only one. The girl who was usually reserved and aloof, dressed as a punk rocker who wore ripped robes and goth makeup and sang about hippogriffs? Surely this couldn't be Daphne Greengrass, Heiress to the Noble House of Greengrass.

"How do I look?" She asked rhetorically. She looked like the real thing.

"Very good," Luna said with the same sincerity as before.

"So let me clarify," Daphne said - it was somewhat strange to hear her voice from the mouth of the Weird Sisters. "We have a Professor, a furry, a Quidditch player, a satirized Boy-Who-Lived, a Minister of Magic, an amphibian, a Head Boy who looks like he came out of the 1940s and a specialist in genocide."

"Yes," Ron agreed.

"Is this what Muggle Halloween is supposed to be like?"

"No," Ron admitted.

"I think my costume is still the best," Harry said smugly.

"Oh?" Daphne Wagtail raised an eyebrow.

"I bet ten galleons that I can shock Dumbledore more than anyone in this room," Harry Riddle said confidently.

"You're on," Katie McGonagall replied heatedly.

"I feel inadequate for this challenge," Ginny Blackwater said.

"It's alright," Luna Gryffindor said comfortingly. "We all have our appeals."

"Not you," Fred Fudge muttered.

"Nor us," George Umbridge muttered back.

Draco Potter rolled his eyes and they set off, intent on creating an unforgettable Halloween experience. Draco was not the kind of child to indulge in 'fun'. Often, he didn't really know what it meant. His mother was rather… aloof, even from her own family, and his father cared too much about his image. Inside a very large, yet very empty manor, oftentimes surrounded only by House-Elves charged with caring for him…

As it turned out, this Halloween was the most fun in Draco's life so far.

* * *

When they strode into the Gryffindor common room, the entirety of Gryffindor witnessed a confrontation between the real Jim Potter and the other Jim Potter. Needless to say, it was an entertaining sight.

At first, Jim had turned bright red as his (possibly) lady-love Faye had laughed boisterously at his side. Then, he tried to get the Jimmy Red Riding Hood to leave, only for his request to be denied. Draco Potter had to be evacuated by the other members of the Halloween party as Draco was fired at by Jim with stinging hexes.

They then visited McGonagall's office, whereupon she encountered a clone of herself. One thing many people did not know about Katie was that she was a _brilliant_ actress.

"Who are you and what are you doing in my office?" Katie growled.

"What?" McGonagall said, stunned.

Katie knew all of McGonagall's mannerisms and behaviors; she placed her hands on her hips, produced an award-winning frown, narrowed her eyes at the real McGonagall and made a small snort of disapproval. "Very funny, Mister Weasley," she said in a flat tone. "I hope you understand that it is a serious breach of privacy to invade anyone's living quarters, not to mention breaking into the office of a professor!"

"Who are you?" McGonagall asked with a hint of steel, palming her wand.

"Er, Katie Bell, professor," Katie said hastily before McGonagall could banish her into the wall. "We're celebrating Halloween, me and my friends. I chose to impersonate you because I respect you. Like, a lot."

McGonagall stared at the motley group for a moment with surprise, unsure of what she should say. Eventually, she pinched the bridge of her nose and settled on "wonderful costumes, Miss Bell and friends."

"Trick or treat!" Luna said happily. McGonagall stared. "It means you can either give us sweets or we'll prank you," Luna added helpfully, apparently unafraid of death.

"I see," McGonagall sighed. "I'd imagine all of you know exactly what might happen should I happen to be the recipient of one of your silly pranks…" the entire group swallowed hard; "but since all of you seem to have put a lot of effort into your costumes, you may each help yourself to a biscuit."

A happy ending, surprisingly enough. The group entered her office and discussed the transfiguration works they'd put into their costumes; McGonagall was impressed by some of them. She didn't approve of the Founder of her House being represented as a furry, nor that Ron had decided to dress as a racist revolutionary, but she seemed to find George's efforts appreciative for some reason. Only Harry (and occasionally Ron) knew why; Umbridge was simply _fucking annoying_ during the staff meetings.

They went to Flitwick and Sprout. They agreed it was a better idea to skip Snape. They finally went to the Headmaster's office, their final target; Dumbledore, a notorious sweet tooth, would surely have plenty of processed sugar they could relieve him of.

"So you really think you'll give Old Man Dumbles the biggest shock?" Katie said skeptically.

"Oh, of course," Harry smirked cockily. "You just watch a master at work."

They guessed the name of every candy they could think of (who would've thought the Headmaster was aware of 'Kit Kat'?) and went up the stairs. Before they even knocked on the door, however, the Headmaster called, "enter."

Whatever he was expecting, it certainly wasn't this. But, being a rather laid-back person who (now that Harry sniffed carefully) probably had a stash of cannabis somewhere and possibly had brain damage, Dumbledore took it completely in stride.

Until he saw Harry, that is.

He narrowed his eyes as Ronald Grindelwald, but he gasped when he saw Harry Riddle approach. He stood up rapidly, wand in hand, until everyone watched him in shock. He quickly put away his wand, embarrassed. He coughed as he settled back into his chair. "What can I do for you, students?"

It took a moment for everyone to regain their composure. Eventually, Luna said, "trick or treat!"

Dumbledore chuckled as he pulled out a small bag. "I should've known. Messrs. Stark, Messrs. Weasley, Miss Weasley, Miss Bell, and to my surprise Mister Malfoy and Miss Greengrass. A curious band of brothers and sisters for a trick-or-treating."

"You know of it?" Katie asked, surprised.

"Of course I do. When I have more time to spare I would glamour myself into a child and walk around neighborhoods so I can get free sweets."

Everyone stared at him.

He coughed again. "Anyway, hold your hands out, if you please. Such creativity with costumes should be rewarded adequately."

As the children eagerly held out cupped hands, Dumbledore upended his bag over each of them - shocking the trick-or-treaters when seemingly an endless waterfall of chocolates and candies poured from it, spilling out of their hands onto the floor. Everyone scrambled to stick them in their pockets, and they lined in front of the Headmaster with newfound respect.

"Thank you, sir," Ginny said sincerely.

"No, no, thank you," Dumbledore chuckled. "While many would find some… well, _most_ of your costumes rather objectionable, I have found them entertaining. For that, I thank you. Now you best be on your way, there are only three hours until bedtime and if you are all planning on eating everything you got like I know you will, you need some time for the sugar high to die down!"

"Thanks, professor!"

* * *

"Who wants another movie night?" Ron asked, as they walked down towards their common rooms. "I wouldn't want anyone to be all alone when they suck all their sweets in, like some sort of sad mountain troll instead of someone who actually has friends."

"Yeah," Harry nodded. "What would be rather pathetic if we did alone, is not at all pathetic and rather fun if we did as a group. Looking at you, Daphne."

Daphne rolled her eyes. "I'm not a disgrace like you, Stark."

"Sure, and you never ever have one more slice of cake and you only ever eat potato crisps one at a time."

Daphne ignored that.

"Do you guys even have the stuff we watch movies with?" Katie asked.

"Yeah, we brought our entertainment centers to school," Ron said. "We felt we'd need it, considering how bored we were planning to be."

"We can use the Room of Requirement," Harry offered.

Everyone except Luna, Katie and Ginny looked confused. If there was one place that not even the twins had discovered, it was the so-called 'Come and Go Room'. Thus Ron and Harry led them to the sixth-floor corridor and paced in front of a certain wall to reveal a large room complete with electricity sockets and a nice television stand for them to set up their equipment. Muggleborn Katie also helped.

"You knew of this room before?" Draco asked Ginny.

Last year, Ginny might have disregarded Malfoy as a 'slimy snake' and Malfoy might have disregarded the Weasley as just another weasel. However, both had been spending time in the company of Ron Stark and Harry Stark respectively, and though they didn't seem to notice, both were changing.

"Yeah," Ginny said, courteous but still somewhat uncomfortable. "Ron Stark has been using this room to train me. Dueling and all that."

"Stark's been teaching you to duel?" Malfoy asked, surprised. Stark had indeed performed admirably at the Septawizard Showdown, but Stark showed cunning and intelligence, he didn't provide proof of dueling prowess. "Is he good?"

"Very good," Ginny confirmed. "Although it's not really 'dueling'. It's more the kind of fighting you'd expect Mad-Eye Moody to teach."

Draco shuddered. Becoming a ferret had not been good for his health.

"I think this is ready," Katie announced.

"Alright," Ron nodded. "I'm going to turn it on."

"Go ahead," Harry said.

Ron turned it on. The entertainment complex immediately shorted out. Harry and Ron groaned, remembering full well just how expensive it had been. They muttered obscenities as they repackaged the complex back into the small box they'd brought it out from. The trick-or-treaters looked around awkwardly.

"What now?" Daphne said.

"Well, I suppose we'll have to return to a more primitive form of storytelling," Harry said. "Wait here."

Harry left the room, and did not reappear for five minutes. Ginny turned to Draco again. "You've probably been taught to duel, right?"

"I have," Draco confirmed. His father himself had been a junior dueling champion in his youth, and both the talent for it and the skills to accompany had been passed onto his son. "I've entered a few competitions, and I've done decently well, though I've won none. I hope to change that by the time I graduate."

"Maybe we could duel sometime," Ginny said casually. Draco blinked, and silence stretched long enough between them that Ginny blushed. "Well, I suppose that might be a little silly given our history and the enmity between our houses…"

"No, no," Draco said hastily. "It sounds reasonable enough, although I'd wonder why you want me as a partner if Stark is already good."

"Ron said that two people on the same level would progress much faster than a pair of mismatched skill level," Ginny mumbled. "And since Ron is far superior to me…"

"He suggested he find someone weaker than him," Draco growled. "The nerve of Stark…"

Ginny chuckled softly. "We could train together. And take him down together, if you want."

"I do want," Draco agreed. "Do you propose we meet in this room once a week or something of the sort?"

"That sounds appealing," Ginny said quietly.

Harry Stark returned to the room. He held up a book in his hand. "I sincerely doubt we'll finish this entire brick today, but it's a good story and we can make a start." He looked around. "Just so you know, this isn't wizarding fiction. The magic described in this world is different from the magic in ours."

"Noted," Daphne Greengrass said, curling up in one of the Room of Requirement's many blankets it had been kind enough to supply.

"Well, then, let's begin." Harry cleared his throat and began to speak in a clear, rhythmic voice.

_In a hole in the ground, there lived a hobbit_.

* * *

Hello all! Thank you for your patience once again. It was a bit of a struggle to try and get the story back onto humor and I hope I'm going in the right direction. I'm not entirely certain where to go from here, I never had any clear plot in mind since I started the story. If you have suggestions you're more than welcome to voice them. I'd imagine Dumbledore's Army will form soon enough, but that's about all I had in mind.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter Seventeen**

"Argh! Get your filthy paws off me, you damn dirty apes!"

Goyle pulled a face. "Well, that's not hurtful at all, Miss Potter."

"'Sides, these orders all came from the High Inquisitor," Crabbe grumbled. "Sometimes I'm tired of being a thug, Greg. Everyone thinks they can just order us around, and the hostages are always so uncooperative and often quite rude."

Ron watched in mild amusement as his best mate's twin's sister struggled within the grip of two silverback gorillas. They held her arms such that she couldn't reach her wand, in her pocket no doubt, and the third-year girl glared at Ron.

"Don't just stand there you dimwit, do something!"

"Who am I to go against the High Inquisitor's orders?" Ron said placidly.

"Don't tell me you're suddenly considering taking her seriously _now_!" Iris shrieked. "You've never taken that bitch seriously!"

"I suppose," Ron sighed, taking a step forward. "Chaps, I don't suppose you'll let her go?"

"Sorry, Mister Stark," Goyle said regretfully.

"Not our idea, see," Crabbe rumbled.

"I personally think she's a redhead," Ron commented, Goyle and Crabbe frowning.

"What the hell does that have to do with anything?" Iris squirmed.

"You might be right," Goyle nodded. "The color chart is in my right pocket. You wouldn't mind getting it for me, would you, Mister Stark?"

"Not a chore," Ron said. He pulled out a small square of parchment, lined with different shades of orange, ranging from Luna's blonde to Professor You-Know-Who's deep red. The blondes were marked 'ACCEPTABLE', the deep reds were also 'ACCEPTABLE', but the orange colors in between were marked 'THREAT'.

Ron frowned as he held it up to Iris' hair, the poor girl very confused at this point. He and Goyle examined the chart. "I'd say poor Iris' hair is a red-yellow ratio of 3:7," Ron said. "The unacceptable range only go up to 4:6 orange. I'd say she's safe, Mister Goyle."

Goyle nodded slowly. "I think you're right, Mister Stark." The two silverbacks let the girl go, who glared up at them, rubbing her sore arms. "Sorry for the confusion, Miss Potter."

"Apology not accepted," Iris sniffed. Goyle and Crabbe looked rather guilty when they left. The girl turned to Ron with rage on her face. "What in Merlin's beard was all of that about?"

"Ah, well," Ron scratched his head. "Since gingers are known to feed on the souls of non-gingers, the Fudge administration recently passed the Anti-Ginger Legislation classifying gingers to be the cousins of Dementors and thus XXXXX-ranked creatures, requiring immediate capture and placement in maximum security."

Iris' jaw dropped, all traces of her anger gone. "What?"

"I know, right? Clearly you're a redhead, not a ginger. Although it's not really Messrs. Crabbe and Goyle's fault, I've heard one or both of them are red-green colorblind."

"No, no, about the legislation. How the hell did that happen?"

"Oh, right. While I personally believe gingers are a menace to society and should be removed and therefore support this legislation, I suspect the true reason for this was so Fudge and Mister Malfoy could remove the evidently evil Weasleys from the political arena."

"But the Weasleys don't even have a seat on the Wizengamot."

"Ah, but how long will that last, considering how quickly they breed? Did you know our esteemed High Inquisitor and Madam Undersecretary's personal assistant is Percy Weasley? If that's not proof of the dastardly Weasleys' political scheming, I don't know what is."

Iris looked rather troubled at the thought. "But I personally know the Weasleys. They're very nice."

"All an act."

"They don't have the money to politically scheme."

"They're doing all of this to get more money, obviously."

"Do gingers actually suck souls?"

"Yes."

Iris stared at him. Ron didn't betray anything.

"Ginny!" Iris exclaimed suddenly. "I have to warn her, or she'll be imprisoned!"

"You're probably already too late," Ron shrugged. "Regardless, it won't matter, because Lord Voldemort has offered the gingers sanctuary upon realizing their effectiveness as human weapons. I suspect Ginny has already gone under his wing."

"Right," Iris said slowly. "Should I be pleased with that development?"

"I wouldn't be if you're opposed to Voldemort."

Iris sighed. "And here I thought Ginny hated dark magic and Slytherins. She certainly didn't hide that fact."

"Yes, she practically advertised it, didn't she? I always did think it was a bit over the top," Ron nodded, smiling pleasantly. "They played us like a fiddle. Such masters of manipulation. I admire them to an extent."

"Right," Iris hesitated. "Thanks for helping me, I guess."

"You're very welcome. Now, should we talk about that super-secret martial order that your recently discovered brother is amassing as Dumbledore's Right Hand?"

Iris raised an eyebrow. "What super-secret martial order?"

"That's the spirit," Ron praised her secretiveness. "Anyway, I'm not allowed to talk about it. But I am allowed to invite you there." He looked at her solemnly. "You must not talk of this to anyone."

Iris gulped at the sudden seriousness. "I won't."

"Good. I'm putting a lot of trust in you." Ron looked at his watch. "Meet me here, same place… at 2100 hours."

He left a rather confused-looking Iris Potter behind.

* * *

"Why such a hurry, Iris?" One of her dormmates, Cecilia, asked.

"Yeah," Olivia said. "You've finished your homework already, even though you never do your homework until eight o'clock."

"Does it matter?" Iris grunted. "Why are you always in such a hurry, Cecilia? Is it because you want to meet Robbie Turner?"

The tips of Cecilia's ears turned slightly red and the girl turned away. "I was just curious," she muttered.

"Sorry. I can't talk about it," Iris sighed. "It's not my secret to tell. I've just been pulled into it, sort of. Even then, I don't really know what it's about yet, I just know it's important that I don't speak about it."

"Well, as long as it's not some sort of drug trade," Olivia said. "Wouldn't want our resident teacher's pet to stain her reputation now, would we?"

Iris rolled her eyes but smiled slightly. "Piss off, Livsy."

At precisely 8:51 PM, Iris gathered her nervous thoughts and stood up, brushing cat hair off her robes. Olivia and Cecilia watched with a small amount of worry as Iris left their dorm room. It was nice to know the two of them cared, even if they could be a bit nosy at times. She passed their portrait and began hiking up the grand staircase to the sixth-floor corridor.

A figure cloaked in midnight-black was waiting there.

Iris froze completely. The torches that were still lining the walls of this corridor had all been extinguished, and the only light cast on the landscape was the moonlight shining through the windows. She could feel a sense of dread settling into her stomach, and she palmed her wand. "_Lumos_," she whispered, and a slight glow emerged on wand-tip.

The cloaked figure did not move once.

Iris approached, swallowing back her rising fear. Was this Ronald? Surely it was. He wouldn't lead her astray, not to anywhere dangerous. She'd found out last year that Harry Stark was, in fact, _Harry Potter_, her brother from a different dimension, and Ron Weasley was his best mate of forty-something years. She could trust both of them. Right?

"You came," Ron's voice whispered. "Good. Nobody following you?"

Iris glanced back, but there was nothing. "No."

"Follow me." Ron walked to the far wall and Iris followed. As far as she could tell, it was a plain wall, not even adorned with portraits or suits of armor. However, when Ron rapped the wall three times with his knuckles, a door shimmered into existence. Iris gaped. She'd been amazed by the existence of the Chamber of Secrets, but… there was a room that _shimmered_ into existence?

"Usually you can't open it by knocking," Ron said. "Only reason I knocked was that someone is already inside and I need permission to enter." He looked the girl up and down. "This won't work. Hold still."

Ron pointed his wand at Iris and murmured a few words. Iris blinked as her robes became jet black, hiding her house affiliation, and Ron also conjured a mask. It was not like a Death Eater mask, something nicer like from a Venetian masquerade. That didn't make it any less creepy though. "Wear this."

Iris put it on.

"A few rules before entering," Ron said softly. "Do not speak unless spoken to. Do not address others by name. Do not remove your mask. Is that understood?"

Iris swallowed and nodded, wondering what the hell kind of cult she'd just gotten herself into, and Ron nudged the door open just a crack. Iris stepped through, and Ron followed. Inside was a large chamber, perhaps half the size of the great hall. In the center was a raised circular arena. About thirty cloaked, masked figures milled around the circular dais.

Iris jumped as a grandfather clock on the opposite side of the room chimed loudly. It rang nine times, signaling the hour. When she glanced around, she realized Ron had slipped away from her and with all the masks and darkened room, she couldn't be certain which one of them was him. She tried not to look uncomfortable as she stood between two others, both of whom were significantly taller than she was, likely sixth or seventh years.

"The clock strikes nine." A single figure stepped up onto the dais. From the voice, Iris could tell it was Harry, but the voice was deep, reverberating. "The doors shall now be closed for two hours. There will be no going out. There will be no coming in. We now begin the fifth meeting of Fight Club."

The crowd was silent. As they should be. They'd been instructed not to speak.

"For those of you new, and those who need a reminder, these are the rules of Fight Club." Harry swept his masked gaze across the milled crowd. "First rule of Fight Club is, you do not talk about Fight Club. Second rule of Fight Club is, you _do not_ talk about Fight Club."

So that was why Ron didn't tell her why or how. Iris swallowed.

"...if this is your first night at Fight Club, you _have to_ fight."

Iris felt sick.

"We have both magical fights and physical fights. Which you choose is up to you and your opponent. No lethal spells. Imperius and Cruciatus are permitted." Iris heard someone gasp. "If you participate in a fight, your goal is to win by any means necessary." He clapped his hands together. "Where are the newbies?"

The masks turned to face her. Iris shrunk away, terrified, as the masked figures somehow managed to pinpoint her as a newbie. Hands, as if reaching out from the Veil of Death, grasped her arms and legs, carrying her towards the raised arena. She tried not to scream. Everything about this shit was _fucking terrifying_.

"Wait," Iris whispered furiously, tugging on the sleeve of who she knew to be Harry. "What is this? I didn't ask for this!"

"It's okay," Harry whispered back, and despite all her anger and frustration that she was fought here, she was glad Harry was willing to overlook her breaking of rules. "Those two over there are taking the first fight. While they do that, I'll tell you what you have to do."

"Harry," Iris whispered, still nervous. "I can't do this. I - oh, Merlin…"

She trailed off as the two boys faced off. They were visibly nervous at first, but apparently, the rule about no speaking was expected to be broken by the organizers, because the crowd began to mock and jeer the contestants and Harry did nothing about it. Apparently, one of the boys (the 'no shirt, no shoes' rule applied to fistfights, so it was obvious they were both boys) got fed up with the taunting from the crowd and decided to prove them wrong. His fist - though his technique left something to be desired - crashed into the other boy's skull.

This apparently kickstarted the adrenaline in the other boy because he didn't hesitate to strike back. Soon enough, Iris was shrinking into herself, horrified, as blood dripped from their fists and jaws. The two boys had succumbed to primal rage and were brawling with no hesitation.

"We tempted them a little," Harry whispered in her ear. "Used an rage-provoking charm to bring out their wild side. Right now they're barely able to recognize pain. We end the fight if things seem to get serious or one of them yields."

"I can't do that," Iris mumbled.

"Yes, you can. I even reckon you'll win," Harry squeezed her shoulder. "I don't tell everyone this, but the purpose of this exercise is to help you fight certain masked terrorists without hesitation. This is only an exercise in conquering fear."

This was a fucking torture session, Iris thought bitterly. Probably the kind of stuff that state-sponsored assassins used as a casual exercise. Then again, considering Harry and Ron's origins as Unspeakable Field Operatives, they probably did this sort of barbaric exercise on a regular basis during their time.

The second boy managed to KO the other one with a clean hit to the side of the head. Iris found it mildly amusing and also nauseating when the one left standing raised his bloodied fists above his head in victory, and the crowd cheered. The fact that the kid was just out of puberty, lanky as hell and was probably a complete nerd outside of this room didn't seem to matter either to the crowd or to the fighters.

"That kid has good technique," Harry praised. "Probably did a few boxing exercises before. Now, I'll show you how to punch. You'll probably forget it in the heat of the fight, but you've inherited your brother's athleticism so I think you'll do well anyway."

The crowd spoke in whispers (apparently the rules Ron gave him only applied when the ringleader was speaking) about the fight. A few older students came forward to heal the two fighters, congratulating the winner and the loser as well, with good grace. The loser and winner shook hands like they'd known each other their whole lives. Iris couldn't contain her shivers.

"I think you've got the basics," Harry said approvingly. "Now off you go. It doesn't matter whether you win or lose."

Iris clenched her fists, willing them not to shake, as she stepped onto the arena. From the opposite side, a girl that was probably at least two years older than her came to the podium. The mask covered enough to be difficult to tell who it was, but it did not cover the blatant smirk on the face of the other girl as she appraised Iris up and down.

"I choose no magic," she announced.

The crowd muttered for a bit. There was no making it more fair with magic, but choosing 'no magic' considering the definite difference in size seemed a bit cowardly. Meanwhile, Iris felt a flash of rage rise from the bottom of her belly, a primal beast that reared its head at the insult to its pride. The Gryffindor Lioness was angry, and Iris barely recognized the guttural snarl that escaped her lips.

"Bring it," Iris barked.

The two girls removed their robes and shoes, uncaring of their modesty and fueled by rage. One of the two ringleaders (must be Ron, the mask is different from Harry's) told them to fight. Iris charged forward and gladly obliged.

* * *

"Why is the group so empty today?" Jim wondered.

Beside him, Hermione was wondering the same thing. Usually, the DA meetings had about sixty or so students - a pretty significant number, most of them from fifth year. However, today there were about twenty faces that weren't present. Indeed, the most popular communist, Cedric, was notably missing.

"It's because Fight Club is scheduled today," one kid said, then quickly slapped a hand over his mouth.

"Fight Club?" Hermione asked.

"Er, I can't talk about it," the kid said sheepishly. "It's the most important rule."

"Okay," Hermione said, confused. "And it clashes with DA practice?"

"Sometimes," the kid's friend shrugged. "This is the first time it's happened. The Boss said it might happen in the future, too, but not always."

"And I assume Harry and Ron have both gone to this Fight Club too," Jim sighed. "Even though they were the best defense tutors we've had."

"If the Fight Club is exactly what it sounds like, I think I know why they'd prefer it over the DA. Especially after we forbade them from using the drill sergeant routine…"

Jim shuddered.

During the third meeting of the DA, Ron and Harry had decided to emulate a well-known single-eyed individual during their training session. It was… even funnier than when Harry was training Iris before, before the Septawizard Showdown. Ron in particular had adopted a horrible redneck accent and Harry Stark was 'straight out of a Tarantino film', as Hermione described it.

They shot stinging hexes at everyone as they were made to run around the Chamber of Secrets, very loudly and very often commenting on how unsatisfactorily large the sizes of their bottoms were due to lack of exercise. Jim's personal favorite was when Ron shouted, 'Vane! You better not be gossiping with your friends, I want to see your fat arse run until your stomach is as flat as your chest!'

That was a little mean and Jim shouldn't have laughed, but to be fair, Romilda Vane was known as a somewhat pompous bitch to her year-mates.

"So what are we going to do today?" Luna asked.

Jim rubbed his chin. "I was thinking we could try the Patronus charm." He looked around at the massed group. "Back at the beginning of third year… do you remember the train ride? I was knocked unconscious by one and if it hadn't been for Professor Lupin I might not be here today. So I asked Professor Lupin to teach me. It's not as difficult as you think. Yes, it will take practice, but it is a spell derived from your emotions. Your magical power or skill doesn't matter."

He looked around. "I have been advised from people who fought Voldemort the first time around that this spell will be extremely crucial."

The crowd looked rather uneasy at that.

"I've done a bit of extra research. I've consulted with Professor You-Know-Who as well as Headmaster Dumbledore, and here's what I can tell you about it. The Patronus spell is a charm powered by happiness, love, and hope - all things that are directly opposite to the presence of Dementors. That is why Dementors are disgusted by them. The Patronus will repel Dementors and discourage them, but it will not kill them. The Patronus can also act as a messenger." Jim took a breath. "The Patronus is formed by happy memories, hopes and dreams for the future, and all-around joy. Like so. _Expecto patronum!_"

Jim's wand glowed with ethereal light and rapidly expanded. The silver mist coalesced into a shimmering stag of gigantic proportions. It raised its regal crown and surveyed the students, many of whom wore a look of awe. More than a few were captivated by the beauty and reached forward to touch it. Their fingers passed through the gentle swirls of energy like mist.

"What do you think of when you're casting the Patronus?" Tracey asked curiously.

"Tracey!" Daphne hissed. "Why would you ask such a private question?"

"Eh, it's alright," Jim shrugged. "Personally I think of when my youngest sister was born."

"Not last year's Yule Ball?" Faye asked, smirking.

Jim blushed. "Yes, that too."

"It's a good thing Iris isn't here or she'd be upset that you don't remember her being born," Hermione snarked.

"I was two years old! How was I supposed to remember that?" Jim cleared his throat. "Anyway, try giving it a go. It's alright if you can't come up with a memory. It can be your hopes, your dreams… something that would make you extremely happy, and imagine letting it out of your wand. Find your own space, and off you go."

The words 'expecto patronum' began to chorus through the Chamber. To everyone's surprise, Neville Longbottom was the first to get a misty burst of magic. "Well done!" Jim grinned, thumping his friend on the back. "You got it very quickly."

"Yeah," Neville said, his smile wide and relaxed, soothed by the presence of his own Patronus. It was a massive bear - the lack of the hump implied it was probably a black bear, but it still looked ferocious nonetheless. "Last year I visited my parents… apparently, two master legilimens popped in one day out of nowhere and began having mental one-on-one sessions with them. The healers tried to stop them but they were too powerful, and my parents were actually getting better, so they allowed the biweekly meetings to happen. Even if it were only a few words, mum actually spoke to me!"

"That's great news!" Jim didn't have to feign his smile. He didn't have to guess as to who these expert legilimens might be. They probably had some knowledge from the future, too, some as-yet unknown rehabilitation methodology that would eventually be invented but not yet.

"I thought of that, and then… this happened," Neville grinned sheepishly, gesturing at the bear, who was basking in everyone's attention.

"You did well, Neville. Give your parents a few more weeks, and I bet they'll tell you themselves how proud they are of you."

Tears glistened in Neville's eyes, but he didn't cry. "Thanks, Jim."

"No worries," Jim croaked out, his own throat constricting slightly. He turned to face Luna. "How is your progress going?"

She hummed noncommittally. "It is a bit hard. I can't find a memory to use."

"What about some dreams, then?" Jim suggested. "Do you have any dreams? Like marrying Sirius, perhaps?"

Luna smiled. "Yes, I did have that one dream the other night where Sirius was pushing me onto the bed and pulling off my clothes before he turned into a raccoon and I was chasing after him because the raccoon took my Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans and then the raccoon disappeared and I was wondering where he was before I got grabbed around the waist and something attempted to enter my rectum and I woke up."

Jim was speechless. "Okay, uh, does that make you happy?"

Luna shrugged. Right, even she wasn't that crazy.

"I suppose I dream about mummy occasionally," Luna said quietly, and Jim froze.

"...what kind of conversation do you think the two of you would have today?" Jim inquired softly.

"I think she'd be asking me if I had a crush or not," Luna said with a little smile. "Maybe she'd ask me if I'd burned down the school yet by accident. If not, then how my grades are. If I'd made any friends."

"And what would you say?"

"I don't have a crush, but I did make some very good friends. I haven't burned down the school, those friends of mine burned it down first." Jim snickered. "My grades are okay. I'm in Ravenclaw like you and daddy, so my dorm-mates help me with what I don't understand."

"And she'd give you a hug?" Jim asked.

"She gives the best hugs," Luna confirmed quietly.

"How? Will you show me?"

Luna hesitated before placing Jim's hands on the back of her head and between her shoulderblades respectively. Jim gently held her there. "And now if I told you to close your eyes, point your wand to the sky, and say…"

"_Expecto patronum_," Luna whispered.

The sparkling mist slowly swirled into a cloud which morphed into a small, white rabbit. It sniffed at the air and zoomed around the Chamber with everyone staring after it. It paused, sniffed again, and pounced on something only it could see. It was adorable.

Jim realized he hadn't let go of Luna yet and did so. She was discreet in wiping at her eyes, but Jim didn't miss it. She smiled brightly, no trace of any of her previous melancholy remaining. "Thank you, Jim. You're a wonderful teacher."

"It's my pleasure," Jim replied.

Jim went around helping others, including Hermione who seemed frustrated that she couldn't get it on her second or third try as she usually could with new spells. Jim struggled to explain that books weren't everything (he struggled because Hermione proved her knowledge could solve almost any problem) and that this spell was more about emotion and instinct. Hermione seemed much more at peace after he explained that her frustration was literally not helping her progress.

They had been doing this for about an hour until a group of bloodied and bruised boys and girls walked into the Chamber, at the head none other than Ron and Harry Stark. The former had a busted nose, with a splint keeping it in place, while the latter had a black eye. Jim was almost certain this was the 'Fight Club' the kid had been talking about earlier. Combining the knowledge of the name with the many signs of damage, Jim could guess what this club did.

"Iris!" Jim exclaimed, rushing forward, finding his Hermione-like little sister sporting a swollen lip and a gash on her right brow which had been fixed with plaster of all things. Even a simple _episkey_ should be able to heal it! He was about to do just that when his sister stuck out her chin and looked _down_ on him.

Jim was shocked. He may not be as tall as his father, but he was definitely taller than this midget, and _she _was looking down on _him_!

"Yes?" Iris said.

"You're injured," Jim supplied.

"I know that."

"You need to go to-"

"No," Iris said quickly. She shuddered. "I'd rather not be chained to a dungeon disguised as a hospital, thank you."

Jim could understand her point of view. He'd been in there enough times to get annoyed by Madam Pomfrey's pushiness at this point. He frowned. "Then at least let me heal the cuts."

"No."

"Why not? Do you _want_ people to see them?" Jim said incredulously.

She smiled proudly - what she was proud of, Jim had no bloody idea. "Yes."

"Okay, well, if that's your preference…" Jim scratched his head. "Better make sure mum doesn't see, though."

Iris paled. Then she collapsed to her knees in front of Jim who watched with an amused expression. "Heal me, big brother, you have to!"

The members of the Fight Club watched on in amusement before turning to Jim. "We finish about thirty minutes earlier than you people do, so we came to join. _Expecto patronum_, is it?"

"Yes," Jim nodded. "A surprising number of people have got it."

"It's because you're a good teacher, Jim," Hermione said with a smile, her silver otter brushing under her fingertips.

The newcomers began to practice. With Ron and Harry helping out, Jim found that progress became much quicker. A few more people were able to form misty shields, while some others outright created an animal. Jim was surprised to see a Jack Russell Terrier run through his legs. He looked up to the source of the little beast and found Ginny.

"Ginny," Jim said, surprised. He hadn't been avoiding Ginny, not really. In fact, Ginny was probably avoiding _him_. She'd been spending what most would call an unhealthy amount of time around Ron, but Jim had decided it was none of his business and kept his nose out of it. But here she was now, and she'd somehow… changed.

"Hey, Jim," Ginny said awkwardly.

She seemed taller and broader. While she hadn't skimped out on height before, having inherited the Weasley traits for height, she was no longer as lanky as she used to be and built up some muscle. If one were to compare a picture of her from before her and Jim's big argument and now, they'd see some significant change. But she was taller, as in, she had more _presence_.

"How have you been?" He asked curiously.

"I've been alright, I guess," Ginny shrugged. "Ron has been teaching me things. Like how to keep my cool. It's helped a lot, actually."

"That's good to hear," Jim said sincerely. "What other things have you been learning?"

"How to duel, how to fight. Some basic Occlumency and also a bit about taking care of myself." Ginny gestured to her body. "Ron - and occasionally Harry - took me to a Muggle 'gym'. They made me run and lift weights and stuff, it was pretty crazy - but I feel more confident now." She grimaced. "I'd never admit this in front of anyone except a friend, but I realize I was complaining about being overshadowed when I wasn't doing the best I was doing. Ron told me that I'm only allowed to complain after I put in the effort." She grinned. "So I'm working on my complaining rights these days."

Jim chuckled. "And what about Fight Club?"

"Sorry," Ginny shrugged. "Can't talk about it."

Jim was becoming more intrigued by the second, but he decided not to pry in case it had repercussions on the relationship between Ginny and Ron, which Ginny seemed to be rather reliant on recently. "Alright, then. Nice Patronus, by the way."

Ginny beamed. "Thanks."

Jim looked around the other newcomers and found that quite a few of them were casting misty shields. Perhaps this Fight Club wasn't all about fighting then, maybe they had the occasional demonstration of technique. He found Cedric in the group of black-robed, Houseless individuals from Fight Club. "Cedric! How are you?"

"Good, good," Cedric grinned. "The Patronus, eh? Thankfully my family is exceedingly nice - so I don't have to worry much in that department." He aimed his wand to the ceiling and intoned, "_expecto patronum_!" From his wand emerged a tall, powerful-looking, mottled canine. It had large, disc-like ears and its legs were long and slender.

"That's an African wild dog," Hermione supplied helpfully from beside Jim. Cedric grinned.

"Wild dog? I like that." Cedric grinned. "Maybe I should become a vigilante with that name."

"A white boy pretending to be an African dog is cultural appropriation," Ron shouted, and the dog snarled at him. Cedric and Ron laughed.

Jim turned to the crowd and cleared his throat. Immediately, incantations and chatter died out, everyone staring at him expectantly. "I think we're out of time today," Jim announced. He glanced at Hermione, who was standing behind him and sneaking peeks at the Marauder's Map. "Filch is apparently on the fifth floor and Umbridge is in her office. Please be careful when returning to your dorms. This concludes the fifth meeting of the DA."

Jim and Hermione watched the various members leak out of the room and head to their respective dormitories. Faye stuck behind - might as well accompany him back to Gryffindor. Her hand passed behind him and squeezed; Jim jumped slightly in surprise, then looked up at Faye's face. She was smirking as if daring him to do something about it. So Jim did. He returned the favor and gave a good squeeze on Faye's rump, and enjoyed the look of surprise on her face.

Jim had been raised a true gentleman - as much as his father would want him to become promiscuous, his mother was _definitely_ more assertive and also… a less of a prick. She'd drilled into Jim not to treat anyone in a way he wouldn't want to be treated by, and Ginny had once helpfully added on not to treat anyone in a way he wouldn't want to be treated by Pansy Parkinson (he wasn't that ugly, Ginny mentioned, but he should be careful just in case). So he'd allowed Faye plenty of space since their 'date' at the beginning of the school year, and was surprised she was that comfortable with him.

"That does look like a nice arse to grab," Harry commented idly.

"You're one lucky woman," Ron added.

Jim was about to retort angrily when Faye laughed and his anger turned to confusion. "What?"

"That is indeed an arse worthy of the Boy-Who-Lived," Ron nodded sagely.

"You wouldn't mind if I had a turn, would you?" Harry implored with a smirk.

"I would, unfortunately for you," Faye said. "These cheeks are exclusively the property of Faye Dunbar."

Even Hermione was laughing at this point and Jim blushed. "I hate you all."

"We know," Ron said fondly.

* * *

Blissfully unaware of this happy moment (for the happiness of others soured her mood to no end) sat a single toad in an overly pink chair, scribbling away at a letter on her desk. Her fat, sweaty, inbred stumps of fingers were unfortunately not engineered with the thought of fine motor movements in mind, so she inevitably dropped her quill on the floor.

Umbridge tittered to herself. "Oh, clumsy me!"

Being so close to the ground as she already was (likely because God wanted her to be far away from Him as possible) she dropped off her chair and picked up her quill. There were a lot of quills strewn about the floor for the aforementioned reason. She scrambled back up onto her stuffy chair and began to write again.

Then she hissed in pain as red ink emerged from the quill, flinging it across the room. She tittered again. "Oh, silly me. I should really keep the blood quills in a separate box."

The next eight quills also turned out to be blood quills (she really liked those, but was now considering purchasing normal quills as well) before she managed to pick up a normal quill and began to write again. She was writing to Imperator Fudge (as he'd asked her to call him) regarding the development of a terrorist cell recruiting Hogwarts students - a terrorist cell known as 'Dumbledore's Army'.

How did she know of Dumbledore's Army? Well, a vengeful Cho Chang had reported into Umbridge after her boyfriend (Umbridge scoffed at such concepts; men were pigs, except perhaps Imperator Fudge) had dumped her, having had a massive row with her she criticized communism (Umbridge also knew that Chang, the filthy foreigner, had been caught bullying Luna Lovegood when she thought Harry, Ronald, and Sirius wasn't looking but had instead been caught by her boyfriend) about the terrorist organization the commie had dipped his fingers into.

Umbridge had no problem pursuing something as dangerous as that because communists, independent thinking and pretty boys who never seemed to reciprocate Umbridge's love and affection were all threats to the nation, and Umbridge was a patriot. A patriot and, soon enough, the savior of Britain. Nobody would give any second thought to the _Boy-Who-Lived_ after Umbridge herself single-handedly uprooted an up and coming communist revolution.

She smiled. The kittens on the walls shied away from her.


	18. Chapter 18: The Battle of Azkaban

**Chapter Eighteen**

Breakfast a few days later was a strange affair.

Many of the students were whispering to each other, though the whispers stopped completely whenever a teacher walked past. Many of the staff found this rather disconcerting, but Snape found this an opportunity to dock points from everyone even though there was no guarantee he was being insulted.

However, this was not what was going around. What was going around were rumors about Dumbledore's Army and also about Fight Club. Ron and Harry frankly did not expect the first and second rules to be followed; after all, Tyler Durden had only created them to encourage people to break bigger rules.

Dumbledore's Army was quickly becoming a more and more paramilitary organization, and for once, this was neither Harry's nor Ron's fault. It was because Jim kept stressing over and over the importance of teamwork, and the students had simply interpreted that to mean they start acting like professional military teams. Occasionally, one could find the DA performing the Macedonian phalanx outside as a team-building exercise and totally not because it was just cool.

This had a much bigger impact than Harry or Ron could have ever have hoped for.

For one, it had united the school to levels never seen before in recent history (frankly, that wasn't much of an accomplishment considering just how fragmented the school was, but it was the thought that counted). The inter-House bias that had been cultivated since the founding of the school and especially after the presence of Tom Riddle had started cracking at the foundations as more and more students from different houses were forced to interact with each other, either as a part of Fight Club or Dumbledore's Army, and realized that there was more to a person than the colors they wore.

Of course, everyone who did not attend either of those (now illegal, according to the High Inquisitor's newest Educational Decree) clubs went on as usual, bickering and pranking and scheming against each other. But for those who did, there was a marked improvement in their attitudes, and gave the two of them hope.

Voldemort had been stronger than they thought. That meant that Harry and Ron could not afford to take on Voldemort's legion on their own. Voldemort himself, perhaps, but his dozen or so lieutenants and possibly hundreds of followers? They needed a team for that, a very special team.

Which was why in Dumbledore's office, seven members were seated in a circle as if attending an alcoholics anonymous session.

"Thank you all for attending," Harry said appreciatively. He looked at the members; himself, Ron, Sirius, Fleur, Katie, Tonks, and Cedric. A few others had wanted to join, like Ginny, Draco, and Luna, but they had been rejected on the basis that they were not yet as powerful or experienced as the others and would likely drag the team's feet. They'd been placed on the reserve team instead. They hadn't bothered giving Jim a spot, because the whole purpose of this team was to give Jim some reprieve.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Harry said. "As you all know, Voldemort has returned. He is still in the process of gathering followers, but Ron, Sirius and I have reason to believe that he might return soon enough. As Ron and I have discovered, he is also much more powerful than we previously thought he was. As such, we have decided that we require a specialized team to bring him and his lieutenants down."

"Which is why we are here today," Sirius said darkly. "To assemble a superhero team."

Everyone stared at him. "A superhero team?" Katie finally repeated.

"Yes," Harry confirmed. "In the same way that Jim Potter is a symbol of hope to the general public, we too need to be something to look up to. A figure that shares their hope, bravery, and strength with the people. Someone who can will the public to fight back instead of cowering. You have all been chosen on the merit of your magical strength and your skill. We have two genuine Septawizard champions, both of whom were chosen for exactly that - strength, will, and skill. We have two UFOs, we have an Auror and a former Auror, and a student who was described as a prodigy by just about everyone we've consulted."

Katie grinned at that.

"And that means we need to wear wacky costumes?" Tonks muttered.

"Oh, please, you already wear wacky red costumes. What's the harm in a new one?" Ron scoffed, and Tonks glared at him for the insult to her Auror robes.

"I like the idea," Cedric said with an excited grin. "Come on, I can be _Wild Dog_. Tell me that doesn't sound cool as hell."

"That might be one of the reasons we invited you," Sirius admitted. "_Wild Dog and The Grim_. The Hounds of Hogwarts. What do you think?"

Cedric was practically drooling at this point.

"We called this meeting so early because we need time to prepare for Voldemort's return," Harry said seriously. "Knowing the man, he will want to make his return an explosive event. Our mission would be to minimize civilian casualties and if possible, return fire against the enemy. This will be extremely dangerous and we are going to need all the help we can get. Sirius is willing to handle the monetary side of things, but it will still mean a lot of sacrifice on all your parts - time, effort. You will shed blood and tears - but hopefully less than if we go up against Voldemort unprepared."

Everyone was silent as they considered Harry's words.

"Damn if I let my friends get hunted down by Voldemort," Cedric suddenly spat. "Count me in. I'm not backing down from tyrants."

"You already know my answer, Harry," Fleur said firmly. "I will stand beside you, through the Gates of Hell."

"I wanted to be an Auror in the first place so I could help people," Tonks said. "Knowing that Sirius will be more than willing to compensate for my Auror salary, I will join."

Eyes turned to Katie. Ron was expecting to see hesitance, expecting her to ask if she could be given time to consider - but there was none of that. Burning determination. "I'll join."

Harry smirked. "Welcome to the club, then. Welcome… to, uh. Anyone have an idea?"

Everyone stared at him.

"Well, Voldemort's minions are called Death Eaters, right? Maybe we can be the Life Pukers?" Ron suggested.

"Why are you even here?" Harry complained.

"Well, Voldemort revels in his being all spooky and dark," Sirius said. "So something to contrast that? The Warriors of Light?"

"This is harder than I ever thought it would be," Harry said, rubbing his forehead. "And here I thought Dumbledore was an idiot for coming up with 'Order of the Phoenix' of all things."

"The Sons of Dumbledore," Ron suggested.

"Shut up or piss off, Ron. You're the least helpful and the most talkative, the worst combination."

"Merlin's Legacy," Cedric suggested.

"That's… better, much better. But I'd rather be known for being _us_ than being under the shadow of the greatest warlock to have ever lived."

"Well, there's seven of us," Tonks said. "Seven is the most magically attuned number. Maybe we can draw attention to that somehow? Seven Deadly Sins?"

"We're not sinning, though," Harry argued. "At least, I don't think we are. We're not, are we, Ron? Actually, scrap that, don't answer. We're not, are we, Sirius?"

"Don't think so," Sirius shrugged. "Seven Heavens?"

"Please," Cedric snorted. "Myself, Fleur, Katie, and Tonks are the only heavens here. You three are uglier than you care to admit."

"I should've let you win the Septawizard," Harry narrowed his eyes.

"Can we return to the topic on hand?" Fleur coolly raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, we can," Cedric said. "Superhero team names."

Ron snapped his fingers. "I got it! We can be _Euthanizers_!"

Harry covered his face in his hands and tried not to cry.

"Dolores' Angels," Katie suggested, just when everyone thought it couldn't get any worse.

"Death Symphony," Cedric grinned.

"What about _Snake Charmers_?" Tonks suggested. "Voldemort has an affinity to snakes, right? What better than a name that has power over him?" Ron predictably snickered at the double entendre before Tonks realized and began to protest.

"Enough!" Harry said. "All of you are hopeless. I'll get Dobby the House-Elf to name our team if I can't think of anything by the end of this meeting." There was outrage to that. What the hell would Dobby even choose? _Great Master Harry Potter Sir and the Honorary Elves_? "No buts, no ifs. That's final and you better start thinking of hero names for yourselves."

"_Wild Dog_."

"Shut up, Cedric, we heard you the first ten times," Katie huffed.

"Wasn't there a shapeshifting chick called Mystique?" Tonks asked. "Can I be her?"

"I suppose so," Harry shrugged. "It's your problem if you get sued, though."

"Going with the theme, then, Fleur can be Phoenix," Katie said happily. "Considering Veela are avian creatures with an affinity to fire. What do you think?"

"Phoenix?" Fleur smiled. "Sure."

"What about you two?" Tonks asked the two Stark boys.

"Harry's already _Rex_," Ron shrugged. "As for me, I'd already decided on _Eclipse_."

"Eclipse, huh?" Katie grinned. "What prompted you to choose that?"

Ron shrugged, but only Harry knew why. It was he who suggested it, after all; Ron, who had constantly been overshadowed by his elder brothers, chose a name that showed that he had finally risen above and overcome them. Becoming a UFO was impressive enough, but what was Head Boy, what was Quidditch captain compared to the _motherfucking superhero_?

"Just you left, Katie," Ron said. "What's your superhero name?"

"Um," Katie said.

Fleur clapped her hands together. "You are a Quidditch player, are you not? You could be sky-themed, like _Cloudmaker_."

"Ooh, I like that," Tonks said. "It's true, it works! The way you run past everyone on your broom, leaving trails…"

"I like the theme, but…" Katie shrugged. "It doesn't feel aggressive enough."

"Then what better than the savior of Britain and the greatest fighter aircraft to have ever existed?" Ron asked rhetorically. "How about _Spitfire_?"

"Or you could go with the underrated workhorse of the RAF," Harry said. "_Hurricane_."

"_Hurricane_," Katie said dreamily while Ron glared at Harry. "I like it."

"So we're decided then!" Harry said. "Also, I've thought of a team name."

Everyone stared at him expectantly.

"_Lucifer_ is a name that means 'light-bringer', or 'bringer of dawn'. Which Lucifer was before he was exiled from God's Kingdom. Similarly, we are bringers of light in these dark times. We are the _Angels Fallen._"

"...that's so _cool_."

* * *

"Go, go, go!" Bones shouted. "There's no time to waste! If we fail our duty here, we will be plunged into yet another wizarding war!"

Aurors charged through the corridors down into the Atrium, jumping into the fireplaces, disappearing in a burst of green light. Amelia Bones herself, escorted by Kingsley Shacklebolt, charged into the fireplace, barking 'Azkaban!' She was thrown through space and onto the shores opposite Azkaban, in a small watchtower on the opposite shore where the rowboats were docked.

"Move it!" Bones shouted at a recruit who seemed to be dallying.

She grit her teeth. About a mile into the sea, she could see black trails slamming into the barriers surrounding the prison. The small contingent of Aurors stationed in the prison were doing their hardest to strike back, but the dementors were also restless and being troublesome. About four dozen Auror reinforcements, led by Amelia Bones herself, loaded themselves into rowboats wherever broomsticks ran out.

"Shack, you go into the air," Bones ordered. Kingsley inclined his head slightly before hopping onto a broom and taking off. "The rest of you, get onto the boats. Cast bubblehead charms in case the boats capsize. Four to a boat, two form shields and the other two snipe at the enemy with explosive curses to try and knock them out of the air."

The boats began to move towards the island at an excruciatingly slow pace. Amelia and the Auror beside her, Dawlish, put up two shields, the edges overlapping slightly. Behind her, the other two Aurors began casting explosive curses into the sky like crude magical anti-air cannons. The Death Eaters were, however, very maneuverable in the sky; under the guise of concealing spells and smoke-screens, they evaded the Auror's attempts to knock them out of the sky with relative ease.

Aurors cried out and covered their heads as a massive shockwave blew outwards from them. The wards of Azkaban had fallen. Amelia watched dispassionately as the grey stone fortress was assaulted. A few of the Auror boats had finally landed on the shores of the bleak island and now they were on land, they had a lot more freedom to prepare defensive positions.

Insane cackling whistled past Amelia and her head snapped up; a volley of curses was flying towards her boat. She, Dawlish, and the other two Aurors all cast overlapping shield charms as they were struck. It struck their shields, sounding like a gong until they cracked under the strain of the powerful siege curses. Amelia cried out as her knees buckled and her wooden boat underneath her disintegrated into splinters.

Amelia briefly lost touch of her senses as she fell into the water. Sounds of battle were faint, muffled - here, it was almost peaceful, even with the occasional panicked thrashing of her comrades and the relaxed drowning of others. She was in the latter category - at least until strong hands gripped her under the armpits and dragged her out to the surface.

She spluttered and tried to push the matted hair from her eyes. Dawlish still gripped one of her arms, his temple bleeding slightly. Amelia returned to her senses, seeing clouds of inky black shoot through the skies and curse at her Aurors. At least half their numbers had landed on the island, thankfully, but the majority of boats still out at sea had been sieged and capsized.

"Dawlish," Amelia gasped, doing her best to tread water.

"Bones," Dawlish grunted. "Swim, now."

Amelia didn't usually take orders from anyone anymore - Fudge wasn't even assertive enough to dare order the Director of the DMLE around - but this one time, realizing that her brain was still addled and incapable of efficient decision-making, allowed herself to be commanded. She began to swim, perhaps a little desperately, towards Azkaban Island.

"What about the other two?" Amelia asked.

"One of them are making their way over to the island. The other got shrapnel in his throat." Dawlish spoke impassively.

"Poor fellow," Amelia said, before redoubling her efforts to get to the island.

The small contingent of Aurors that managed to snag brooms were soon on the run, being outnumbered and no longer carrying the element of surprise. About ten Aurors on brooms versus twenty or so Death Eaters. Once air support was knocked out, the Aurors would find themselves in a pinch, their movements being restricted to two dimensions while the enemy had three.

Amelia wondered yet again what spell the Dark Lord had created, or discovered, to have the Death Eaters able to fly around like this without brooms. All Amelia knew was that it restricted Animagus transformations as this transformation process was similar, so they didn't need to worry about the enemy escaping disguised as an animal - unless they were one of those rare individuals with multiple Animagus forms which, hopefully, none of them were.

"Something's incoming!" An Auror raised their voice as Amelia stumbled onto the rocky shores. Amelia wiped the moisture off her forehead and looked at where the man was pointing. Sure enough, seven specks, gradually increasing in size, were hurtling at the battlefield.

"What the hell is that?" Someone asked.

What relieved Amelia, though, was that the Death Eaters were also milling around cautiously, implying that the newcomers were not allied with the enemy. Good. If even seven more people joined the enemy side, the Auror force would get annihilated for sure.

They got closer…

And closer…

"What are they wearing?" Someone asked incredulously. Amelia agreed with the sentiment.

Oh, it was impressive, no doubt. Two of them, one black like a panther and the other mottled like a leopard, wore a black mask and a gold mask respectively, both shaped like the heads of bloodthirsty hounds, lips peeled back in a snarl and showing off an impressive array of wicked metal fangs. They both wore rough, leather dusters, lined with furs.

Another was wearing a black and white costume, with a sigil on the chest that looked somewhat like an eye; a black sphere, blacker than anything Amelia had ever seen, and a ring of pale fire - like a solar eclipse, she realized. Another - this one a female - wore a red skintight suit with gold feather-like patterns adorning the arms.

Amelia watched in fascination as another woman, dressed in a white and blue skinsuit, thunder past a hovering Death Eater, seemingly knocking them out of the sky with the wind she generated blowing past them. Immediately, the Aurors converged on the panicking Death Eater - a little too much like vultures in Amelia's eyes - to apprehend them.

This shocked the Death Eaters into action and they immediately turned around and began assaulting the seven figures. The seven calmly remained in formation, veering into different directions at the final moment, into two pairs and one group of three.

Amelia dodged an off-yellow curse sent her way and retaliated with a stunning hex which the attacker barely managed to block before flying away. The Death Eaters began to regroup, circling higher and higher out of the reach of the Aurors on the ground. Under Kingsley, the airborne Aurors regrouped and prepared to make a strafing run against the swirling mass of black in the sky, to assist the seven newcomers.

"Here I go!" The girl dressed in white and blue whooped, before accelerating hard at the Death Eaters. Amelia's jaw dropped as she climbed high into the sky, so far that she became a mere grain of dust to her eyes. The Death Eaters watched her ascent prepared for whatever was to come.

"She's hovering," Dawlish murmured from beside her. "What is she doing?"

The answer became clear soon enough. The girl pitched her broom into a steep dive and accelerated like a bludger. Soon enough, clouds began to form at the tip of her broom's twigs; the Death Eaters scrambled to get out of the way. However, the passing of the girl was so fast it apparently created a shockwave like before, but this time, it was powerful enough to scatter the horde of Death Eaters like it were a cloud. A moment later Amelia stumbled at the unexpected sonic boom.

The girl turned her broom back up - it must have been frankly painful to pull up so hard - and charged back in. Amelia realized that the other six, who were circling, also rushed in, shooting out apprehension spells like incarceration jinxes and disarmament hexes. Amelia watched in awe as Death Eaters began to plummet down into the sea.

Her Aurors weren't milling about uselessly, either. They charged in and began to round up the enemy's followers. Things all seemed to be going well. These seven would almost certainly be awarded an Order of Merlin, Third Class should they choose to accept.

Of course, all good things come to an end.

The first sign that something was wrong was the sky. The sky, previously blue save for clouds of black, became gray and dark. The wind began to pick up as well, and the seas churning in anticipation. Amelia licked her lips while Dawlish wiped at his forehead, muttering about rain.

And there it was.

A single, black mass writhing over the surface of the sea. It was not the same as a dementor; it did not inspire misery, but it sure as hell did inspire terror. It was bigger, meaner and more terrible than the average dementor.

The Dark Lord.

The seven of them realized this because they quickly returned to formation, leaving the clean-up of the Death Eaters to the Aurors. About a third of the enemy had escaped the assault and returned to their Lord's side. Even from so far away, Amelia could see the wicked red orbs that were his eyes.

It brought up terrible, terrible memories… of her late husband, of her sister and brother-in-law. Of Susan, orphaned.

A man… nay, a creature, that was supposed to be dead, that night when he attacked the Potter residence.

Fudge was wrong. Jim Potter was right. The Dark Lord Voldemort had returned. It was a strange, alien sensation for Amelia - to be wishing for Fudge to have been correct for once. The airborne Aurors hesitated; the enemy was much more terrifying to go up against, now.

"I did not expect this much resistance," Voldemort said casually. While his manner of speech was slightly inflected, emphasizing the _s_ consonants, it was still rich, deep and cultured. Amelia shuddered at just how conversational, friendly he seemed. If not for his face, he may very well be the kind of person hired to read audiobooks.

"The Auror contingent is especially a surprise, considering how the majority of their budgets were relocated to the Department of Magical Games and Sports."

Amelia bristled at that; that was a sore point for her. "Was that you?" She growled.

Despite being so far away, Amelia could see the wicked smile sent in her direction. "Perhaps, perhaps. Minister Fudge is very easy to convince if you speak the right words and pay the right price. Though he does sell himself short."

He turned his attention to the seven strangely dressed people. "And you! I see you have gathered allies after our encounter last year." Amelia stiffened… Harry Stark and Jim Potter were in those costumes? "I suppose I should be flattered that you think me so capable - but then again, I already knew that I was more powerful than you."

"We'll see about that," one of the strangers retorted venomously.

"And I assume you are taking on the roles of… superheroes?" Voldemort said, amused. "A symbol of justice, a symbol of hope! Noble intentions indeed, and I assume you wanted to make a name for yourselves today? I don't know how you found out about my attack, but you must have thought it would be a good idea to round up my Death Eaters."

"We've been doing a fairly decent job of it so far," another voice commented. Amelia Bones recognized this as the voice of Sirius Black.

"Ah, indeed. You have captured two-thirds of my forces, while my men have seen no success in infiltrating Azkaban. I shall have to speak to them about that later." The Death Eaters shuddered - and Amelia felt a brief moment of pity for them. "But now, they have me."

"They have you," a voice she recognized as Harry Stark's spoke grimly. "And you are worth ten Death Eaters on your own."

"Indeed."

"But we are each worth three Death Eaters, and there are seven of us."

And the scene exploded into action.

The line of 'superheroes' fanned out rapidly - those were some ridiculously fast brooms they were riding - and attacked. The Death Eaters raised shields that sent the superheroes' curses bouncing off while Voldemort himself began to manipulate the choppy waters into a giant serpent. Amelia watched as the supposed leader, Harry Stark, quickly ordered some of his colleagues to fly higher to avoid the enemy. The eclipse-man, firebird, black dog (Sirius Black), and strange, blue-skinned shapeshifter rose further up.

The other three remained close to the deck for, Amelia realized, they were _very_ good with their brooms. They could make it into the Quidditch big leagues for sure. They didn't hesitate as they danced around the serpent's hungry maws, shooting off spells like it was nothing. And their coordination was incredible; they could not get through the enemy shields individually, but they were able to whittle the enemy off one by one, concentrating their fire.

The airborne Auror regiment finally charged in as well. They flew higher and higher as they tried to avoid the serpent. Amelia was worried; her Aurors had poor brooms, especially in comparison to the ones these so-called superheroes were riding. The four heroes up high dived down slightly in formation and trailing thick fog from their wands. A smokescreen.

They continued to circle the writhing mass of dark magic, expelling smoke, even as the Death Eaters tried to summon gusts of wind to blow it away. The result was a confusing duststorm-like maelstrom of smoke patches. The Death Eaters found it difficult to position the incoming Aurors and circling supers. The Aurors, on the other hand, knew exactly where they were, and fired off a salvo of red stunners into the smoke.

The fog was thrown away suddenly as the Dark Lord blasted it away with a concentrated gust. He didn't seem as friendly now as he did before. He twirled his wand in his hand, and the seas below him began to swirl as if they'd been stirred in a cauldron. Amelia gawked at the incredible display of magic, despite her circumstance.

The water began to rise up higher, trying to swallow her Aurors.

"Aurors!" Amelia shouted, snapping out of her trance. "We can't fly, but we can provide covering fire. Get into square formation! Prepare to launch explosive curses!"

The Aurors began to shuffle into a diamond, with Amelia at the very center. The ones at the front kneeled, allowing those at the back better vision. "Aim!" Amelia shouted. As soon as the Aurors had averted the Dark Lord's attack… "Fire!"

A volley of explosive curses hurtled through the air, screaming towards the mass of Death Eaters. Volleys were a surprisingly useful tactic in magical warfare; a large number of spells attacked enemy shields together, which meant the shields generally collapsed and the enemy were not given enough time to reform the shields. This was no exception. The first half of the curses struck the shields, tearing a gaping hole in them, while the latter half crashed into their midst. The Death eaters scattered in a panic to avoid it, even while the Dark Lord himself ignored the attack as if it were unworthy of his attention.

The Death Eaters scattered - some more than most. The supers were quick; they rushed in to pick off the strays with efficiency. The spherical mass of inky blackness was smaller than before. Amelia prepared her Aurors for another volley.

Until someone screamed.

"Inferi!" Another shouted, as her square disassembled in terror and panic. "Inferi are crawling up from the southern shore!"

"Hold!" Amelia roared, spinning around to confirm that bloated, pale flesh was indeed scrambling towards the Aurors. The one who had screamed before was no longer screaming, his existence no longer anything but a scrap of red - robes or flesh, Amelia didn't know which - occasionally visible under the mass of writhing hands. "Use fire to drive them off! Form ranks!"

Her steadfast voice must have provided relief to some, for they quickly rushed to form ranks. "_Incendio_!" Amelia shouted, and a lick of flame roared from the tip of her wand into the now agitated inferi.

Similar gouts of flame drove back the undead, while a few others covered their backs in case the Dark Lord attacked from their flank. Amelia risked a glance back and saw that the Aurors' volley had done its damage. The Dark Lord was being engaged by Harry Stark, who wore red and black robes and a small golden crown, and the eclipse-person. The other Death Eaters were not faring so well, being under fire by the other five supers and ten or so Aurors.

They could win. The Dark Lord had miscalculated. It was entirely possible for them to win.

The Dark Lord must have realized this as well. Perhaps it was the presence of the superheroes, these masked vigilantes, that stopped this from occurring. Amelia imagined this would not have gone nearly so well if she had seven Aurors instead of seven supers. Perhaps the fear and dread naturally emanated by the Dark Lord were countered by the optimism that superheroes brought in times of need.

"Perhaps I have underestimated you," Amelia heard Voldemort's infuriated hiss. "Our next confrontation will be your last, _superheroes_. _Portus_."

And the Dark Lord, and whoever remained of his followers, disappeared.

The supers only hesitated for a brief moment before Harry Stark (the man was wearing a crown on top of a black mask, and Amelia only knew him for his voice) sped back towards them. The others followed. Stark's wand became the handle of a burning whip with which he began to rain vengeance upon the reanimated bodies.

The man dressed as an eclipse hopped off his broom, his wand turning into a glowing violet sword. The sword hummed with energy as it moved through the atmosphere, and the inferi were sliced open like they were butter. The others quickly joined, either burning them from above or from the ground.

Amelia had her eyes on the firebird, to see what she could do. This seemed right up her alley - and it was. She too hopped off her broom into the thick of battle, whereupon the gold feather markings turned a charred black and her entire body was set alight with magical fire. The inferi screamed in fear, fleeing from her, but she was quick. She quickly closed the distance between herself and the shambling corpses in several steps of her long legs, before disabling them with a combination of (literally) explosive punches and kicks.

Amelia was distracted; a corpse jumped on her from behind. She grunted, raising her off-hand to block, and she felt the teeth of the corpse sink in through her Auror leathers. She twirled her wand in her other hand and sent a point-blank blasting curse into its face; it made Amelia's clothes rather messy, but that was the least of her concerns.

There must have been a hundred or so inferi, because the battle dragged on for quite some time before they could be certain that every one of them were now permanently dead. Amelia took a deep breath, the first since the fighting began, trying to relax. She breathed through her mouth because she didn't particularly enjoy the smell of charred flesh.

"...been a big help," she heard Kingsley speak. She turned around to see that Kingsley was speaking with one of the masked vigilantes, the one with a golden dog head.

"Why, you're welcome," they said in a cheerful voice. "I'd hardly say that was pleasant, but it was necessary."

"I think the press might love to hear your story," Amelia grunted. She grunted slightly as one of the Aurors wrapped a bandage tightly over her newly healed, but still sore, arm. "So. You're actual superheroes, then?"

"We try to be," the dog said humbly. "I'm _Wild Dog_. And we're the _Angels Fallen_."

"Honest-to-Merlin superheroes," Amelia sighed, shaking her head. "Yeah, the press really would love you, especially after we explain that you weirdos single-handedly saved the day."

"I wouldn't say single-handedly," Wild Dog said, his voice suddenly somber. "Mystique caught a vicious cutting curse to her collarbone - a little higher and her throat would have been sliced open. And _Rex_ over there is magically exhausted after he had to physically block Voldemort's water serpent-thing. If the battle lasted any longer he'd probably be dead too."

"Then thank Lady Luck for her fortune," Amelia said carelessly. "We won. In the end, that's what matters. We lost a lot of people, yes, but victory is still better than the alternative, when going up against an enemy like the Dark Lord."

"I suppose," Wild Dog shrugged. "Pardon me. I need to make sure my friends are all okay."

Amelia and Kingsley nodded as Wild Dog jogged back to his colleagues, all of whom were resting against the wall of the Azkaban fortress, enjoying the sunlight (or what little of it they got in this slowly clearing weather) and tending to any wounds. As Wild Dog had claimed, _Rex_, or Harry Stark, indeed looked like he was unconscious, propped up against the stone and held there by the female firebird hero.

It only took half an hour for the press to come rushing onto the shores of Azkaban island. They photographed the burning pile of dead inferi, they fired questions at an extremely annoyed Amelia Bones, interviewed some of the Aurors and then finally, the _superheroes_. They spent the most time with them - though frankly, Amelia was just fine with that. She didn't really need the Oracle hounding her right now.

She would first honor the dead. Once that was done, Amelia would go home, take a shower, and sleep for three days.

* * *

_Superheroes Save the Day! Masked Vigilantes Drive Away You-Know-Who!  
(Story by Alicia Stone, Pictures by Ralph Hendricks)_

_What do the _Angels Fallen _have in common with _Excalibur, Lady Lumos, _and_ Mage_? The bravery, the costumes, and their exceptional skill at arriving when they are most needed! The self-proclaimed superhero group rushed to Azkaban Island early this morning where a force of Death Eaters assaulted the infamous fortress, intending to release some of their notorious colleagues. The Auror squad, despite their recent budget cuts (or perhaps more like _Budget Hamstrings_? See p. 8) acted quickly enough to fight the Death Eaters, but their numbers were too few. At least, until the _Angels Fallen _arrived on the scene and began to attack the Death Eaters. According to the Aurors on the scene, they appeared as their 'saving grace', 'ferocious fighters' and 'a welcome surprise.' _

_All hope seemed lost, however, when You-Know-Who himself appeared on the battlefield, raising an army of inferi and rallying his troops. The Aurors were attacked by 'a hundred or so' inferi, according to DMLE Director Amelia Bones. The small force of twenty ground Aurors bravely fended off the inferi while ten airborne Aurors and seven superheroes fought the Dark Lord. Great feats of magic were performed that day, according to Senior Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt, who commanded the airborne Aurors to assist the superheroes. _"You-Know-Who conjured a giant serpent of seawater and tried to drown us, while his lieutenants used that distraction to knock us out of the air," _Auror Shacklebolt said._ "The supers flew in formation and utilized smokescreens to great effect, allowing us to strike the enemy without being struck ourselves."

_The battle against You-Know-Who lasted an entire four minutes, according to one Auror - one knows this is a monumental achievement against the Dark Lord himself, who has been known to decimate entire Auror squadrons in forty-two seconds (read p.13, _A History of Struggles Against You-Know-Who_.) The Dark Lord retreated after three-quarters of his followers were picked off by the brave men and women of the Auror force and _Angels Fallen_. After that, the Angels immediately flew to the ground Aurors' aid, fending off the inferi with an impressive array of skills - the superheroine '_Phoenix' _is described as having burst into flames and throwing flaming punches and kicks, all wandlessly. _

_Of course, none of this victory came without cost and sacrifice. At the insistence of the noble heroes and Aurors, we include the names of the honored dead. _Tanner Crooks. Leon Hawthorn. Denise Morton. Elwood Owlen. Elise Rider.

_Below: Photograph of _Angels Fallen_. From left to right: _Phoenix, Rex, Eclipse, Grim, Wild Dog, Hurricane, Mystique.

_For further reading, refer to pp. 2, 5 - 8._

* * *

A/N:  
Whew, thanks for sticking by to the 3,700-word battle scene. So the superheroes have arrived, in their final push against the Dark Lord Voldemort. This story is nearing its end. The next chapter, I plan to write the final battle sequence. It comes a lot faster than in canon, yes. But Voldemort's existence has now been publically acknowledged and he will need to strike fast and strike hard. He will attack Hogwarts despite the presence of powerful entities within in the hopes that he can use the castle as a defensive position and take the children within hostage. I am also planning on writing an epilogue and then a sequel (probably a crossover) so if you think you've had enough of me... tough luck.

And now, for the angriest reviewer of the month (June 2019 edition):  
"_**Unspeakable Harry is suddenly knocked out because he can't handle a portkey trip? The one way you can move the plot is to nerf your main characters? Contrived and forced. Garbage**._" - Guest  
"**_I never knew there was such a thing as Jim Potter bashing until I read this fic. So far you seem to be determined to write him as a complete fucking idiot with no redeeming qualities. That's pretty much the definition of bashing_**." - also Guest  
Geez, man, chill out. I get what you mean - yeah, looking back, it might have been a bit of a forced scene, and I think I could write it better now than before. But you know what else seems forced? That review.  
Also, of course Jim is useless. He's a student for crying out loud and not even a NEWT student who has begun to specialize in his courses. There's obviously not much he can do against a Dark Lord who has undergone power-ups of dubious nature and has lived fifty years longer than he has. Even canon Harry was fairly useless and only survived so long because of luck and the brother-wand effect.

That being said, I am sincerely thankful to all of you who has reviewed this story. Your input and your participation motivates me to keep writing - and once this chapter is up, this story will be around 93,000 words (I think). The word count should hit six figures once the whole story is done. Thank you all for sticking by, and I'll do my best to bring the next chapter out, though it will take some time due to upcoming exams.


	19. Chapter 19: the Battle for Hogwarts

Hello, all. Final chapter. I also plan to include an epilogue, to give it a sense of finality in this world and tie it in for a crossover to another world.

I used the following map for reference in the Battle for Hogwarts: www . deviantart / hogwarts-castle / art / Hogwarts-Ground-Floor-47140781

* * *

**Chapter Nineteen: The Battle for Hogwarts**

"Maybe, just maybe, the media shouldn't be a monopoly owned by the government," Ron commented, staring at yesterday's edition of the Daily Oracle.

"Dumbledore's Army is a terrorist organization attempting to destabilize the government with false rumors of the Dark Lord's resurrection," Harry mused. "Interesting. I wonder if Fight Club is mentioned? Considering Fight Club _actually_ _is_ a terrorist organization attempting to destabilize the government and financial sector."

"Nah, Fight Club isn't mentioned," Ron said, skimming through the Skeeter article.

"I think this is going to result in a civil war very soon," Katie said nervously. "Look at it. Skeeter is practically telling her readers to outright hunt down Jim and his followers. Fudge must be paying her a lot for her to write something like that."

"Yeah," Ron said. "And we'll naturally defend Jim, and we'll naturally overdo it, and it'll escalate and turn into an outright battle."

"Jim can't even go out of his dorm without Neville and Dean protecting him," Ginny said, popping into the group. "Seamus is a sheep, so he tries his best to sit it out. Jim's been hexed at nonstop since the article came out yesterday." She narrowed her eyes. "Speaking of which, where have you all been?"

"We were converting the Shrieking Shack into something befitting a superhero's lair," Harry grinned. "We expanded the inside, put in all sorts of high-tech looking trinkets that don't really do anything - you know, the kind of stuff you find in Dumble's office - and our supersuits."

"So you really think there will be a civil war in Hogwarts?"

"And for once, it won't be divided by house," Ron nodded. "Look! She's just making everything up. Like saying Jim supports the death penalty for people with Dark Marks regardless of the 'Imperius'. And that he supports registration for Muggleborns. There are so many conflicting messages in here, only designed to make people mad at Jim. Most people would just talk about Jim behind his back, but this is a school full of hotheaded, angsty teenagers who would like nothing better than to take a crack at the Boy-Who-Lived, and possibly even at his mother."

Ginny's eyes narrowed in anger. "Professor Potter is the nicest woman ever."

"And some wouldn't care at all because she's an uppity mudblood," Harry replied, then turned to Ron. "I think we need to meet with Dumbledore _very_ soon."

"Right," Ron said, standing up and helping Katie to her feet. Ginny stumbled as she followed after Harry, Ron and Katie.

They were standing in front of the stone gargoyle and about to guess every candy they could think of, when suddenly it retreated, revealing a spiral stone staircase from which Dumbledore was descending. He saw the four students and smiled. "Hello there. Were you planning to see me, by any chance?"

"We were, in fact," Ron said. "We need to discuss this," he held out yesterday's paper, "and we need to discuss what we do in preparation for Voldemort's attack."

"Ah, so you also came to the same conclusion," Dumbledore said, his twinkling eyes gone. "As I'd thought. I was on my way to see the two of you, in fact." He looked at Harry and Ron. "I understand that both of you have fooled around quite a lot in the last two and a half years here, and I admit that I have fooled around quite often with you. However, this is no longer the time. I require your complete cooperation now, for it is no longer our own lives at stake."

"What? This article can't be that serious…" Ginny swallowed.

"Let us retreat to my office, then, to discuss," Dumbledore suggested.

Ron shook his head. "No, let's use the Room of Requirement. We plan on inviting the Fight Club over for an emergency meeting. I like to think we can trust the members of Fight Club after all the time we've spent beating each other up."

"Ah, Fight Club. Your idea has merit; let's go to the Room of Requirement." Dumbledore nodded.

"You know about Fight Club?" Katie said, bewildered.

"My dear, I participated in three fights in the first three meetings!" Dumbledore chortled.

Ron chuckled. "He was hidden as a Gryffindor student. Do you remember that one kid who knocked Cedric flat on his arse in a magical duel the second meeting? That was Dumbledore."

Katie and Ginny stared at their headmaster, amazed. On the other hand, Dumbledore simply looked amused. He shot the two girls a conspiratory wink, and they all dissolved into giggles. The thought of the wise, bearded headmaster participating in a rage-fuelling, testosterone-brimming Thunderdome in disguise was too funny.

"So can anyone tell me why this article is so important?" Ginny asked, referring to yesterday's front page. "I mean yeah, it's ridiculous, but why has it got you three so worked up?"

"I've been wondering the same thing," Katie admitted.

Dumbledore's smile disappeared. "It's not the article itself. Rather, the article is a symptom of something worse. I cannot conclusively prove that, but if I am correct and the article represents what I think it does… we will have a war on our hands very soon."

"The fact that Voldemort's reappearance was forgotten so quickly in media suggests that Lucius Malfoy is strangling the Oracle at the behest of his master," Ron explained. "And that means Voldemort is preparing to make a move. Sure, it could just be damage control, but look. It's attacking Jim, Dumbledore, the Potters, the so-called 'Dumbledore's Army', attacking Amelia Bones and the Auror corps. I don't know if you noticed - they were on the other pages - but there are also minor jabs at Madam Longbottom, the Diggories, Weasleys, the recently acquitted Sirius Black. They're attacking literally everyone who is or was opposed to Voldemort. He's trying to alienate all of his enemies from the rest of Magical Britain."

"Effectively, he's trying to give the Light Side a bad rep," Harry said. "And most people are sensible enough not to do anything radical about these people, even if they talk about Jim or Sirius behind their backs. Hogwarts, though? It's full of hormonal, angsty teenagers who would like nothing better than to take a crack against the Boy-Who-Lived and his friends. I heard that Jim got into a confrontation with a bunch of Slytherin sixth-years yesterday after this libel came out. The war has already started."

"And after that, Messrs. Weasley staged a retaliatory prank on Slytherins," Dumbledore said tiredly. "From there, the enmity and conflict between Jim Potter and Slytherin has escalated. While the Hufflepuffs prefer to remain outside of conflict, should they be forced to choose they will likely choose to stand against Jim. Ravenclaw has already seen its majority stand against Jim; Miss Lovegood and her small circle of Ravenclaw friends can hardly be called a majority."

"Once the conflict escalates to a school-wide prank war, which it almost certainly will?" Ron spread his hands. "The teachers will be busy, and nobody will suspect that Voldemort's army will be standing at Hogwarts' gates. Or maybe already infiltrated."

"They could disguise themselves as Aurors or Hit-Wizards and pretend to be keeping the peace between students," Harry suggested. "Then they could complete a quiet takeover of Hogwarts, assassinate Dumbledore, and take the entirety of Hogwarts hostage. After that, almost all of Magical Britain will surrender in exchange for having their loved ones back, and Britain will be under Voldemort's control."

"That's only one possibility," Dumbledore said, as Ginny and Katie's jaws dropped. "Regardless, I - and both Harry and Ronald, clearly - believe that Voldemort will choose to attack Hogwarts sooner than later. We must prepare for his coming."

"How will we do that?" Ginny asked nervously.

"That's what we're here to discuss, are we not?" Dumbledore said with a smile.

Ron meanwhile had fiddled with a medallion that was distinctly different from currency, but looked harmless enough to be a mere collectible. As he murmured under his breath, the serial number that ringed the minted face of Caesar slowly turned into the time and date, set one hour from then. As they filed into the Room of Requirement, a few other members began trickling in, wearing masks.

"Masks aren't required today," Harry said casually. The assembled members hesitated before removing them. "In fact, you'll need to remember your allies' faces for the upcoming war."

"What war?" Someone rumbled.

"I'll tell you when everyone gets here."

The room became more crowded, though it was still spacious. Ron, Harry and Dumbledore stood on the circular arena, watching the students come in. Exactly one hour since the time was set, all thirty-seven members of Fight Club had arrived, and all looked around nervously, and occasionally someone finding a friend in the club.

"Angelina?" Katie exclaimed.

"Katie?" Angelina exclaimed back.

"We have time to socialize later," Harry said, cutting off similar conversation going around the room. "We called for an emergency meeting after learning what happened yesterday. Ron and I, as well as the Headmaster, believe it is cause for alarm, and we predict a war is coming soon to Hogwarts."

"Why is Headmaster Dumbledore here?" Iris asked.

"Because he's a Fight Club member, obviously."

The look of shock on the faces of literally everyone was a sight to behold, and Dumbledore's eyes twinkled like mad.

"Getting back on track," Harry interrupted. "We came to the conclusion that Voldemort is gunning for us."

He, Ron and Dumbledore explained why they thought Voldemort was going to attack Hogwarts, and most people had to agree it was convincing. They also mentioned that even if it were just a false alarm, Voldemort would attack sooner or later so it would be good practice, trying to keep the peace between students and protecting them from thugs if need be.

"You have all gotten powerful under Harry's and Ronald's tutelage," Dumbledore spoke. "However, none of you are close to being as powerful as the Inner Circle - the ones with silver masks. I advise you _strongly_ to have nothing to do with them. Only let myself, Ronald, Harry, Sirius, or the professors fight them."

"And today, we have a guest appearance to learn about very necessary skills in warfare," Harry said. "Please put your hands together for Madam Pomfrey, who will be teaching you battlefield first aid."

The students politely clapped as Madam Pomfrey bustled out from behind the students. She didn't seem pleased at the idea that students may be caught up in the fighting, but having students know first aid could mean the difference between life and death for those who inevitably were. She showed the younger students how to mend cuts, scrapes, and broken bones, while the older students were taught how to counteract basic hexes and curses favored by the Death Eaters. Even Harry and Ron learned a few new things. They did have some medical knowledge, but it was nothing compared to that of a medical professional.

* * *

March 29th, 1996.

Many individuals were making their own special preparations for the day to come, whether it be sooner or later.

For example, Fred and George were hiding behind two suits of armor as they watched Umbridge get more and more flustered. They had to cast silencing charms on each other so they wouldn't alert her with their snickering.

Umbridge had not been able to use a shower for six days, now. She was starting to smell a little, even from underneath that horrific perfume she liked to use. She tried to open the bathroom door but it simply would not budge. Even cleaning charms had a limit, after all.

There were a surprising number of rules to their pranking. Ronnikins had reprimanded them (and hadn't that been a surprise?) for pranking Slytherins indiscriminately.

"When our school is in danger, the last thing we need is an enemy within the walls," Ron said disapprovingly. "We need a united front, or at least for no interference from those that might hold a grudge. Apologize to the Slytherins that didn't deserve it - no, I don't care if there are dozens you need to apologize to, either - and you will instead focus your attention on High Inquisitor Umbridge, who I hear has been using blood quills as a form of punishment."

"Seriously?" Fred blinked.

"But those are dark artifacts. Should they have gotten through the wards?" George asked.

"I suppose the rules are different for bureaucrats," Ron shrugged. "You will prank her instead. She's not a Death Eater, but I'm willing to bet everything I have that she is a sympathizer. You need to make sure that she quits her position before Voldemort's arrival. She's more likely to join the dark side than fight with Jim Potter."

"Alright," George said. "We might have a few ideas…"

"We could ask Peeves to keep her up all night," Fred grinned.

"No," Ron interrupted. "Nothing that involves sleep deprivation. Or physical harm. Anything you could be used as an… 'enhanced interrogation' method, don't do it. You're pranksters, not torturers."

"How could being noisy at nighttime be torture?" George asked, alarmed.

"Well… one night isn't _that_ bad. I've pulled a few all-nighters in my time," Ron shrugged. "But extended periods without sleep can be extremely unhealthy. I'd know - I got captured once, and I went 130 hours without sleep. Or thereabouts. By the end of it I thought I saw Harry right next to me, complaining about the food. He wasn't there, obviously."

"...alright, then!" Fred said, faux cheerfully. "We'll get right on it! Without torturing the hag, as you wish."

"Off you go," Ron grinned. "Say, do you have any Peruvian Darkness Powder in stock?"

They didn't, but they promised they'd look into it. Meanwhile, they observed Umbridge walk away from the bathroom in a huff.

The twins giggled again (silently) and followed her down the corridor, using disillusionment charms just in case. And, as Peeves was told (read: bribed with a casket of dungbombs), the poltergeist swooped down from the ceiling, yodeling, and Umbridge looked up.

"Begone, you foul ghost!" Umbridge snapped.

Peeves blew a raspberry at her, and proceeded to give her an almost atomic wedgie…

Fred and George gaped in horror before scrunching their eyes shut. That was something they did _not_ need to see.

* * *

"And this is for me?" Filch said in amazement.

While Sirius had helped (it was useful that he'd been revising NEWT Ancient Runes and NEWT Arithmancy, both of which was required to build Filch's present) build the armor, he was not present at the gift-giving ceremony due to the fact that Filch and the Marauders were practically arch-nemeses. So, Harry had opted to give Filch his present; a giant armored suit, the idea taken from a certain post-apocalyptic video game that wouldn't be released for another year in this timeline. Coupled with the minigun, Harry couldn't resist.

"Yes," Harry grinned. "T-60 Power Armor with Brotherhood of Steel insignia. Let me go through the features with you. The plate armor is made of a titanium-gold alloy, up to an inch and a half thick at certain places like the chestplate, helmet, and gauntlets. It had been rune-charged to be magically resistant; it will shrug off basic spells like you're a troll. The joints are not plated, but it is armored with Kevlar padding up to an inch thick."

"I'm not strong enough to wear all this and be able to walk," Filch grunted.

"And that is not a problem, because there is a whole matrix of rune systems engraved into the suit such that it's designed to amplify your movements rather than hinder them. Essentially, since you are a squib, you technically have magic. This small amount of magic is enough to generate the kinetic multiplier runes and while wearing this suit, you can expect to be able to comfortably lift things five times as heavy as you'd normally be able to lift."

"How do I get in?"

"Twist the handle on the back - yeah, and just hop in." Harry watched the plates hiss closed as it protected Filch in an unstoppable suit of armor. "As you might now realize, the helmet's eye sockets are basically decoration. It instead has an in-built HUD, which we made by modifying one of the pairs of magic mirrors that you can communicate across long distances with. The helmet has a whole bunch of functions, including a _homenum revelio_ beacon which highlights living things in red, so you can see if you're walking into an ambush or whatever."

"How… how can I thank you for this?"

"You can thank me by waiting until the end of my speech, thank you very much. Look, Ron and I have had way more spare time than you know. Like, years… decades more. We're also complete nerds once you get under the infuriating outer layer. In fact, we already had this before… we just needed to dust it off and add extra features."

"Right, then. What else does this thing do?"

"Well, it's heat-tolerant; you can't jump into a volcano or withstand Fiendfyre but you could probably walk through fire without much trouble. It's waterproof, but not buoyant; you can't swim but you could walk the bottom of the lake, if you wanted. It's EMP-proof; lightning-based attacks and EMPs won't hurt you. It also has a whole bunch of me and Ron's specialized inertia dampeners - we invented those, so you better not tell anyone - which means you can jump off from top of the astronomy tower and land safely while you're in that suit."

"You must be lying," Filch's gasp was audible even from within the helmet.

"I'm not. It uses a specialized complex of Momentum-Arrestor runes, Shock-Absorbers, Cushions, Levitators, and Gravity Nullifiers. It takes a lot of work, mind you, so I'd really appreciate it if you could keep our little invention a secret."

"Of course," Filch nodded vigorously. "How could I ever repay you?"

"By surviving, obviously," Harry grinned. He'd never felt cooler in his life - helping people was a pretty good feeling. "Also, we took your minigun and gave it an extra setting. You'll notice when you find it that it has an extra button - press it and you'll increase the barrel's spin speed, muzzle velocity, and incendiary rounds. Exploding rubber pellets should be more than enough for most enemies."

"I won't disappoint you, Stark." Filch said reverently. "I'll let nobody else say that squibs are useless."

"You do that, big guy."

* * *

"Today we're going to be practicing two spells," Jim said. "The first is the knockback jinx, _Flipendo_. This you should have learned in your first year. The second is the disarming spell, _Expelliarmus_. The first one is good at breaking enemy shields, and the second one is good at ending the fight quickly. Alright - those of you on this half of the room, go to that wall." Jim waved his left arm, and those standing to the left of his left arm moved to the far wall. "Those of you on the other half, go to that wall."

The students shuffled into position as they were told. Hermione shot him a quizzical look as Jim moved her away. "Now, for those of you that have forgotten, the wand movement for _Flipendo _is like this. _Flipendo_!"

His knockback jinx caught Hermione around the middle and she sailed across the Chamber of Secrets with an 'oomph'. She glared at Harry as she rubbed her midsection and stood up. The students sported smirks or smiles hidden behind their hands, and Jim couldn't keep his own smile off of his face.

"What they don't tell you - or leave in a footnote - is that you can knock shields down if your spell is concentrated or powerful enough. That's why I divided you into two groups; you can practice on each other! My group, raise shields. Make sure they overlap. The other team is going to try and knock down the shields using the knockback jinx. Remember, magical shields are fuelled by the caster's magic - meaning that it regenerates over time. That means you have to coordinate your efforts if you want to bring down a shield."

Jim quickly cast _Protego_ over himself as the opposite side of the room (and Hermione in particular) sent knockback jinxes towards him. His shield jolted as they were struck; he could see people being blown back (relatively harmlessly into the walls, where cushioning charms had been cast) and shields shattering. He was stronger than most, and he ended up being the last one on his team with a still-intact shield. Hermione harrumphed triumphantly, however, when her knockback jinx made it through his shield and blew him over. Hermione… she'd put in a bit of power into that one. It hurt.

"Alright," Jim said, hiding his pain and standing back up with what he hoped was a look of nonchalance. "Now it's our turn. You guys put your shields up - because we're coming for revenge!"

Jim fired an overpowered knockback jinx at Hermione - and smiled grimly in satisfaction as it tore through her shield like it were paper and blew her on her arse.

They repeated this exercise until the coordination got better, and then began dividing the population into groups of four. Each group selected a single student to carry a brightly colored, fake wand. The aim of the game that Jim introduced was to use _Expelliarmus_ to capture the fake wand, _Protego_ to protect your wand-holder, and _Flipendo_ to break through enemy shields. It was a fairly fun game, the students found. And they worked harder when they enjoyed something.

When they were all done, a few students complained about being sweaty - to which Ginny responded by casting _Aguamenti_ on them and soaking them through. This turned into a water-fight, extending their DA session yet again, and Jim got to witness Daphne Greengrass transfigure her and her sister's robes into bathing suits (which were ridiculously archaic, as with all things in Magical Britain, but it did show off her amazing curves).

"Hey, Potter," Tracey said, as the students began filing out, sopping wet but on a generally happy note. "Do you really think the Dark Lord is coming back?"

Jim chewed the inside of his cheek. "Yes," he finally answered.

"And will we be able to stop him?"

"I don't know," Jim said honestly. "But is it better for us to sit around and wait for them to hurt us? Or hurt our younger siblings?" His face hardened. "I'm not going to let people hurt my sisters, or my friends. I'll fight, even if I knew I wouldn't win."

Tracey smiled slightly, but she didn't seem particularly happy. "I guess we really don't have a choice, then."

"But we can choose to act out our destiny half-heartedly, or with all our strength."

* * *

Aberforth had recently spoken with his elder brother. Albus proclaimed that Voldemort was going to return, and that Aberforth would do well to brush up on his dueling skills. Aberforth, as much as he disliked his brother, wasn't going to ignore a dire warning from him. So, he'd signed on for the self-defense classes offered by Hogwarts' newest DADA professor.

At first when the chick had said they'd be learning basic offensive and defensive spells, and a bit of Muggle 'dueling', his thoughts had strayed to the fancy-pants 'martial arts'; the kind of fighting techniques that required years of training to perfect and was useless in a real fight on top of it. He'd fought in the first war, damn it, and war wasn't a sport.

Well, he'd been wrong. Instead, it was _he_ who was surprised by the brutality of the methods described by the Polish girl.

"Not a single one of you here, I think, could take on a regular thug in a fistfight," she'd said. "All of you have been working legitimate jobs - which is a good thing - but your enemy have been dealing in bruises all their lives. You wouldn't win unless you ganged up on someone, and odds are that they'll outnumber you. That means you must end the fight as fast as possible in your favor unless you want to be ended."

Then she'd demonstrated how to kick a guy in the balls (much of the male audience couldn't hide their wince), how to punch someone in the throat, the kidneys. She also recommended targeting the eyes, the spine and neck, the fingers, and solar plexus. All techniques designed to seriously maim the opponent. It was then that Aberforth realized this girl knew exactly what she was doing.

Today, though, they were practicing offensive spells. For those who didn't know it, stunning spells were being taught. For those who did, they were being taught the blasting curse. For those who knew both - Aberforth and a handful of others, Aberforth wouldn't ask why Madam Puddifoot apparently needed the blasting curse on a near daily basis - they were being taught the Professor's original creation, a 'HEAT curse'.

"High-explosive anti-tank curse," she explained. "This one is not designed to be armor-piercing, but it should have no problem shredding shields like they're made of paper. It's an explosive curse; use it like you would use artillery bombardment. It's a howitzer-type siege spell with long range, doesn't diminish much in power over long distances, and causes a lot of damage. The only downside is that it will drain you - a lot."

She demonstrated the wand movement, the incantation (_Panzerfaust!_), and conjured roughly human-sized wooden dummies on the far end of an empty field. As it was a howitzer-type spell (meaning that it flew in an arc instead of a straight line) the participants raised their wands at around a thirty-degree angle from the horizon before casting the spell.

Almost everyone's wands fizzled out, except for Madam Puddifoot's. Her spell, a bright white, sailed into the air and plummeted back towards the field. The spell fell about twenty feet short, but that didn't seem to matter; even from three hundred feet away, the heat was felt on their skin. The spell erupted in a massive ball of flame, a small shockwave, and once the debris and smoke settled, a couple of the dummies had very obviously been roasted.

"Oh, my," Madam Puddifoot gasped. "You're right… that really does take out a lot from you. I might be able to use this spell five times before I need a rest."

"Extremely useful siege spell," the Professor said. "Efficient at taking down defensive wards or blowing up a group of the enemy. If you act all in a group, one person would be able to tear down enemy shields for the rest of you to stun them, capture them, or whatever you wish."

For about ten minutes more, they practiced the HEAT curse, and once everyone in that group was able to successfully cast it once, the Professor made them rejoin the others. "Alright, listen up. You've all learned your spells and where to punch someone if you lose your wand. Now you need to practice working in conjunction with each other. Divide yourselves into three groups…"

* * *

And then it came. The Day of Judgment - 26th of May, 1996.

* * *

The first sign that something was wrong, was that the Auror squads stationed in Azkaban (the number increased since the attack on it about three months ago) did not enter their daily reports. Well, they were supposed to do this every morning and evening at nine o'clock, but the 9 AM report did not come in. The Ministry tried to reach them, but they did not respond.

Hit-wizards were alerted also to a break-in at Ollivander's wand shop. They examined the scene - indeed, the windows were shattered and the door blasted off its hinges from the inside - but there was no sign of Ollivander's. Thankfully, the old wandmaker had apparently used the floo to escape his assailants and take refuge in Dumbledore's office.

Reinforcement Aurors arrived at Azkaban and found that the eight Aurors stationed there had all suffered a Death of Personality.

Their souls had been removed, and some prisoners were missing.

Despite Fudge's best efforts to claim everything was fine, Amelia Bones alerted every other department head of what was to come. She gathered every single one of her Aurors, sprinkling her most trusted into different squads, and began to conduct a thorough patrol through Diagon Alley and major magical settlements that might be a refuge for Voldemort.

Meanwhile, as soon as Ron had gotten hold of this information, he gathered the six other superheroes and held a meeting in the Shrieking Shack. Since the supers were beyond the capabilities of ordinary students and even adult wizards, they would have to take on the senior Death Eaters. Katie, Fleur and Cedric would operate as one; Sirius and Tonks; Ron and Harry would pair up, as usual, to fight off the strongest of the Death Eaters and very likely Voldemort himself.

"We'll divide ourselves between the major battlefields," Ron said. "The biggest and most obvious is the Entrance Hall. However, the entrance hall is only accessible via a long stone bridge. It is easily the most defensible position and if shit hits the fan, we can always shatter the bridge. However, we can expect a large number to be striking there for their convenience, so we'll station Tonks and Sirius. We also don't need much protection on the southern and eastern flanks, because the lake and river cover most of it and the Merfolk don't like trespassers at all."

"Our biggest problem will be the west wing," Harry murmured. "That's where the Forbidden Forest is, and where Voldemort will be hiding his giants, spiders, and the bulk of his wizard forces. Hopefully the centaurs heeded our warning from months ago and have evacuated. We'll need siege wizards in the Northern Towers so they can bombard the enemy positions without getting themselves into danger."

"The Owlery would be a useful position to hold," Ron said, pointing at the Marauder's Map. "Right in between the North Tower and the West Wing, it can be used bombard anyone coming from the southwest or northwest."

"It's also vulnerable," Harry grunted. "A small tower with a small maximum occupancy. It could be overrun very quickly and the people inside will find that it will be extremely difficult to escape. There's only one exit, and they will have to cover open ground before they can get back to the castle."

"There's also the northern entrances to think about," Sirius said, pointing towards the greenhouses. "Who's going to cover those?"

"I think Ced, Fleur and Katie can handle that one," Harry said. "It's a relatively small entrance and as long as we supply them with the DA students, they should be able to hold off the enemy relatively well. I'd also recommend taking NEWT level herbology students, though, in case the greenhouses get damaged and plants decide to attack the defenders."

"Harry will handle the Owlery," Ron said thoughtfully. "It's definitely dangerous, but that's where a lot of dangerous dark creatures will attack. We can't risk not having people to watch that region. If you feel like you're being overrun, though, don't hesitate to abandon the position. You'll be too late to get out otherwise."

"The West Wing will need to be manned by the Fight Club members," Harry said. "Of the general student populace, they're easily the most capable and violent fighters - we'll need them to take on the giants and acromantula. If possible, I also want Filch and Hagrid to be there; the former's firepower will be useful, and Hagrid can take care fo any stray acromantula that reach the parapets."

"Shouldn't we discuss with Dumbledore?" Katie asked nervously.

"We will, as soon as we figure out our battle plan," Ron reassured her. "We can't rely on him for everything, as smart as he may be."

"The younger students should be kept in the dungeons," Harry said grimly. "Hogwarts is supposed to have about a hundred House-Elves; at least half of those need to watch the youngest, to keep them comfortable and protect them, if Voldemort breaks through our lines. I want the other half to act as medics; they can apparate well, so if there are any defenders mortally wounded or trapped, they can apparate them to safety."

"Where would the other students be fighting?" Cedric asked.

"That depends on how many students are actually willing and able to fight," Harry murmured darkly.

"Ah, there you are."

The seven of them spun around to face the Headmaster, and Deputy Headmistress, of the school. Behind them were Professor Snape and Professor Flitwick. They all had grim visages, and none of Snape's customary sneer or Dumbledore's twinkling eyes were present at the time.

"Professor!" Ron said, pretending to be shocked. "How did you guess the password was 'Lemon Drops'?"

Dumbledore smiled slightly. "Because you told me the password was my favorite candy. I thank you for the invitation."

"These _students_ are the 'powerful allies' you told me about, Albus?" McGonagall spluttered. "Most of them are not even of age!"

"Ah, Minerva, that matters not, not when Tom returns to school." His face darkened. "They are the so-called _Angels Fallen_ that have been performing humanitarian acts over the past three months. All of them are powerful wizards and witches in their own right, and the Starks… the Starks are probably as strong, if not stronger, than I am."

"Preposterous," Snape scoffed.

"This isn't the time, Snape," Harry said, standing up and narrowing his green orbs at him. For a moment, the teachers swore Harry's image flickered; into that of a grown man, heavily scarred and disfigured; a veteran of war. "In the upcoming battle, I am your commanding officer. You will obey my orders and you will carry them out efficiently. Should you choose to desert and join the other side, I will execute you myself."

Snape remained oddly silent as Flitwick gasped angrily. "You cannot say that!"

Harry slipped on a ring that was on his chain, morphing into a redheaded DADA professor. "I can and I will." Snape and Flitwick looked shocked, turning to the Headmaster for guidance - he only nodded in recognition. "I am your Defense Professor, and you have all seen what I can do. I was asked to demonstrate my abilities in accepting the job, after all."

"Let us cast aside our rivalries, for we have a common enemy we must defeat - at all costs," Dumbledore rumbled, sounding impatient. "What do you have in mind, Harry, Ronald?"

"There are three main entrances that must be defended," Ron spoke calmly. "The bridge and the Clocktower Courtyard, the greenhouses, and the North Tower block. Furthermore, we can assume that Voldemort will have legions of acromantula at his mercy. We need to expect enemies that can scale walls to be attacking from the direction of the Forbidden Forest - as such, we will need defenders on the West Wing also."

"The Clocktower Courtyard, courtesy of the bridge, is relatively easily defensible," Harry continued. "And if everything goes badly, one can strike down the bridge, preventing access for all but Inner Circle Death Eaters. It could be held with relative ease by a group of students, led by Sirius and (former) Auror Tonks - at least until the elites come through."

"We should not place students in danger," McGonagall said.

"Yet we need their participation," Flitwick said sadly. "Otherwise we will be overrun, even with the assistance of Aurors."

"The greenhouses can be held by Cedric, Fleur and Katie, as well as some DA students," Harry continued. "We think it unlikely that the northeastern side will be sieged; there is a strip of open land that will reveal Voldemort's forces and make them susceptible to bombardment. Voldemort, while apathetic, will not risk losing such a large number in a pointless attack - unless he is only using it as a diversion."

"Harry is going to hold the Owlery," Ron said. "It's vulnerable, but a prime location to thin the enemy. It's the most dangerous, which is why Harry will lead a team of the best fighters he can gather and a team of Hogwarts house-elves to apparate them back if they are overrun. The West Wing, on the other hand, will be held by NEWT-level Defense and Charms students, assisted by Hagrid and Filch. Also, if you get the suits of armor working, send a contingent to the West Wing; if acromantula scale the walls, melee fighters immune to venom will be the most useful."

"Anyone in fourth-year or below should be evacuated to the dungeons and overlooked by the house-elves," Harry continued. "We'll obviously need a few extra House-elf hands to apparate the wounded or trapped back and forth, but other than that, these elves will be our last line of defense."

The professors watched on silently. It was not a bad plan - in fact, probably the best they had. All they could do was wait and see.

"Voldemort himself will likely arrive through the Clocktower Courtyard," Harry said. "He's a narcissist; he will want a grand entrance, and he can't accomplish that unless he walks through the front gates. However, he will only arrive once he deems the spirits of the defenders to be broken, to maximize the impact of his terror. At that point, Ron and I will head over and do our very best to finish him."

"If you can," was all Dumbledore said. No doubt he was thinking about the prophecy.

"We will," Harry said firmly. "Even if it takes our lives."

Harry and Ron looked at each other in mild surprise. Had he really said that?

Yeah. Weirdly enough, they _were_ willing to die to save their friends, old and new. Old, including Tonks, Sirius, Luna, Hermione… new, including Katie, Ginny, Jim, and even Dumbledore himself.

"Very well," Dumbledore said. "We prepare for war. Minerva, Severus, Filius - please gather the staff for the most important staff meeting in our lives."

* * *

**2100 Hours**

"They're here."

* * *

"Professor!" Hermione gasped, pushing through a crowd of students. "Professor!"

McGonagall did not glance at Hermione. "Yes, Miss Granger?"

"How… what are we going to do?" She asked, slightly desperately. "I - I looked. There are far too many Death Eaters! There must be thousands - we'll be overrun!"

"I daresay the enemy will not hesitate to attack unless they get Jim Potter," McGonagall said. "Unless you're offering to give him up to Lord Voldemort?"

"Of course not!"

"Then I have no choice," McGonagall said firmly. "I will make my stand, should it cost my life. Now, if you don't plan on fighting - and I would not blame you if you do not - follow the younger students to the dungeons, please. The House-Elves will take care of you."

Hermione remained frozen in place. Those… those were not desirable odds at all. And she had seen far too much danger in her time at Hogwarts; troll, Fluffy, basilisk. She'd helped save this school from mortal danger several times, and nobody would scoff at her for wanting a break.

But she'd come this far, and she'd be damned if she let something stop her now.

"Where should I go if I want to fight?"

McGonagall might have given her a tiny smile, but that might have been her eyes playing tricks in the darkness. "I heard from Mister Ronald Stark that the greenhouse is looking for the less experienced defenders. The Headmaster has agreed that it will hopefully see the least amount of fighting there."

"Yes, Professor," Hermione said. Though her voice wavered, her will did not, and she took off at a run.

McGonagall smiled fully as she disappeared. The entrance hall was completely empty, now; all students having either evacuated or standing in position at one of several defenses. Minerva McGonagall raised her wand.

"_Piertotum Locomotor_!"

McGonagall did not flinch as an armored statue crashed into the ground beside her, its armored boots releasing small flakes of gray stone. And then another, as an empty metal suit crashed down on the opposite side. And another, and another. They began forming ranks; the metal suits began to split themselves among those who would defend the northern entrance and those who would defend the courtyard. The stone statues began to march towards the West Wing, where they would fend off acromantulas and, if need be, giants.

"_Hogwarts is threatened. Man the boundaries; protect us! Do your duty to this school_!"

The clanking of metal and thunder of stone was all the answer she needed.

She giggled, a little lightheaded. "I've always wanted to use this spell," she whispered to herself.

On the battlements of the West Wing, Flitwick stood amidst the students, his wand pointed to the air. "_Protego maxima; fianto duri; repello inimicum_."

Sprout stood with the defenders of the greenhouses. "_Protego maxima; fianto duri; repello inimicum_."

Snape stood with Harry Stark in the Owlery, alongside nine NEWT students, the Weasley twins, and Harry's old friend, Gemma Farley, who had returned to protect her thirteen-year-old sister.

"_Protego maxima; fianto duri; repello inimicum_."

"_Protego maxima; fianto duri; repello inimicum_."

"_Protego maxima; fianto duri; repello inimicum_."

An ethereal, glowing barrier slowly began to spill over the skies above the castle, dripping down towards the ground like molten wax, enveloping them in a net of warmth, safety, and the feeling of _home_. The sensation of a father's gentle hand on one's shoulder, of a mother's embrace, of the smile of friends - everything that one wished for, the shield radiated back to the defenders of Hogwarts.

From the Owlery, everything towards the west was visible. And the opposing army was large, much larger - and to think there was more hiding in the quiet woods.

"Professor," Harry said softly, and Snape's head turned. His usual look of distaste was gone, replaced by grim determination; Harry respected the man. His Mark must be burning on his arm, and yet he did not cry out or freeze; he instead actively fought back.

"Yes, Stark?"

"Is there a spell that can broadcast my voice throughout the school?"

"Like the Headmaster does?" Snape said, and Harry nodded. Snape murmured under his breath, and twirled his wand over Harry; a sensation of magic blanketed him. "You're on-air," Snape said, and Harry briefly wondered how he knew that term.

Harry took a deep breath.

"_Defenders of Hogwarts_."

In the Courtyard, Sirius, Tonks, and countless others looked up, as they heard Harry speak seemingly directly into their minds.

"_Tonight, we may be defeated_."

Hermione, Neville and Ginny looked up from the greenhouses, the latter glancing at the corners, wondering where the voices came from.

"_Tonight, we may fall where we stand._"

In the Headmaster's Office, Ron and Dumbledore paused, listening intently to Harry's voice.

"_But never let it be said that we did not fight_."

Senior Auror James Potter and Professor Lily Potter intertwined their hands and squeezed hard enough that their knuckles glowed white in the darkness.

"_Never let it be said that we abandoned our home._"

James Potter Jr. looked away from the sky, facing down the long stretch of Quidditch pitch as he stared down the advancing enemy from the walls of West Wing.

"_Never let it be said that we did not stand up to darkness_!"

A moment of complete silence. Then, the stone and metal figures raised their spears in the air, slamming the butt of their weapons against the stone, once, twice, thrice. Prompted by this, the defenders let loose a deafening cheer, a cheer made up just as much of desperation and fear as hope and bravery, a cheer that shook the walls and halted the attackers, if only briefly, in their tracks and made the defenders realize just how much they _loved Hogwarts, the place they grew up_.

And then the siege began.

Hundreds of bright flashes of blue hurtled through the sky, descending on an arc. Like hailstones against windowpanes, it crashed down with thunderous roaring, causing ripples to form over the transparent shield. The barrage continued; the defenders remained steadfast, those in the West Wing and Courtyard solemnly at the straining shield and the continuing barrage.

The barrage lasted for a depressing ten minutes, before it stopped. The sudden peace lasted for an uneasily long amount of time.

"Did… did they give up?" Neville whispered in the silence, a tad too hopefully.

Neville did not see, but those guarding the west did. A single jet of pale light. A single streak of light from the most feared individual in modern history; a single person, making the shield buckle under his weight.

The shield shattered like glass.

Spiderwebs crackled all around the dome from the small hole that Voldemort pierced. Flakes of the dome began to fall from the skies; it fell gently, like the softest of snow, and the students gazed up in surprise and wonder at the brief distraction. Their heads snapped back down to the fields as Voldemort's many new recruits began to take tentative steps across the boundary. When they realized they weren't being pulverized, they let out cries of thrill and battle-lust, charging towards the defenders.

Unfortunately, Hogwarts was home to many creative geniuses, two of them being the Weasley twins.

In the darkness, the invaders did not see the ground they were crossing as well as they should have. They triggered mines and tripwires that they should have taken care to avoid. The shouts of excitement turned into those of pain and fear as jagged streaks of ice rose ten feet high, impaling those who were unlucky and trapping those even less lucky inside a cold tomb. The walls continued to rise, trapping the Death Eaters out with yet another obstacle to overcome.

Eventually they began sending incendiary hexes and explosive curses at the wall, chipping and melting it away. They proceeded a little more carefully this time, but nobody was able to see in the darkness and through ankle-high grass. A few in the front quickly learned that a single file of venomous tentacula had been planted along the perimeter in a hurry. They screamed in terror as they were dangled by their ankles and wrists by the clearly excited plant matter.

However, there was far too many.

A significant portion of the enemy passed the single-use booby traps and dangerous plants to face the first rank of defenders. They let loose shouts again, this time mixed with fury, fury for their comrades and for their humiliation.

The defenders of the courtyard began forming ranks, overlapping shields as they watched, on the other side, Death Eaters begin to cross the bridge. The ranks behind raised their wands as one, smooth group movements either practiced by the DA or Fight Club, and gathered magic at their fingertips.

"Fire!" Sirius called as he maintained his shield.

Bolts of spellfire sailed over their heads in a concentrated group and struck the hastily assembled shields of the enemy like a bell. Then, a clap of thunder; heat blew over the defenders' faces as explosive curses tore through the enemy ranks, putting them back at square one.

"Fire!"

A second volley. The Death Eaters began to panic as they realized their chances of crossing the bridge were slim. The ones at the front - those who miraculously survived the previous volley - tried to push through those behind them into safety.

"Fire!"

Waves of Death Eaters came, and volleys of spells flew. The Courtyard was still secure.

The West Wing was slightly different. Giant arachnids began scuttling through the screaming Death Eaters, trying to climb up the wall. The students, understandably, lost much of their morale. Jim only kept fighting through an obligation to his mother and younger sister; he could not stop fighting now, not with all that was on the line - but the spiders admittedly made him feel like he should run back to his dorm and hide under the sheets.

"You think you can take me on?"

That was Filch's voice, surprisingly strong for a man who was so reedy and often seemingly sick. Jim spared a glance left and saw Filch getting assaulted by a giant spider - one large even in comparison to the Hagrid-sized metal armor that the Starks had built him. Filch punched the foul beast in the eyes, making it flinch; he raised his minigun and roared as he let the bullets fly. The explosive ammunition began burning the acromantula's body; it shrieked in shock and pain as it recoiled from the spinning wheel of death.

Filch continued to push forward, embedding ammo into the spider's body, and raising one massive armored leg to kick the weakened beast off the edge of the wall. The students cheered for Filch - possibly for the first time - as the caretaker stumbled back from the edge, the red-hot barrels rolling slowly to a halt.

Hagrid did not seem so keen to hurt the beasts, but he did like the students much more than Filch did; he fought just as ferociously with his two massive tomahawks, deafening roars interjected between the pained shrieks of spiders and the crackling of exoskeleton underneath the massive steel blades.

The West Wing was secure.

The battle raged in all parts of the castle for hours. The greenhouses were assaulted briefly close to eleven. The enemy did not bother with an invasion; they used siege spells to destroy the walls and greenhouses. Cedric, Fleur and Katie were forced to evacuate the students while they did their best to counter the enemy attacks. This was very obviously a diversion, and everyone at the greenhouses knew it; they could not afford to send more defenders this way to help. They instead were forced to retreat within the next set of walls, their numbers too few to strike back effectively.

Immediately after the siege from the north, the Owlery was assaulted by a company of werewolves. They used their speed to dodge around the limited defenders' attacks and run up the spiral staircase. Harry and Snape stood side by side - something neither had imagined happened - and held the stairs, the others shooting down at the ground from above. Snape saved Harry's life several times in that brief thirty-minute assault, as did Harry save Snape's life.

Of course, that was apparently the perfect time to unleash giants.

Massive humanoids lumbered out of the darkness, slapping cudgels against their palms, each time making a thunderclap. They eyeballed the Owlery, and Harry swallowed at that sight. "They're going to attack the Owlery!" He shouted. "Set a trap, set a trap! We can't do anything more than that!"

Snape cursed and immediately began drawing rune chains; Harry surprised by just how stable it was as Snape etched it into the stone walls, despite it being a ridiculously - and he meant _ridiculously_ \- volatile rune chain. One by one, the students began disappearing with _pops_ from the House-elves, until only Snape, Harry, the Weasleys and Gemma were left.

"Weasleys! Can you plaster portable swamps onto the side of the building? That might absorb some of the shock from blunt attacks and if we're lucky, suck in the ugly bastards' clubs never to be seen again."

The twins nodded before reaching out from the windows and sticking their joke products to the walls. It might not help, because the top level, where they were, was still higher than the giants were tall and the giants would probably opt to strike the lower levels.

Harry turned to Gemma, who was writing down the same rune chains as Snape was.

"Gemma-"

He was cut short by the war cries of the giants, loud enough to burst their eardrums. Harry instinctively clapped his hands over his ears; he glanced and saw Gemma collapse to her knees from the shock, and the Weasley twins slink down against the wall as the entire tower shook. Snape stumbled over to the edge and motioned his wand; one of the giants found that they could no longer speak.

It didn't matter. They began charging towards the Owlery, swinging their clubs.

"Get out of here!" Harry shouted, grabbing Gemma's hand and that of a house-elf with the other. "Put us on the West Wing battlements!"

The elf nodded and _pop_ed them into existence on the walls of the West Wing, before _pop_ing away. Snape and the Weasleys followed a moment later, materializing on the roof of the building. Just in time, too; the uprooted trees that the giants were using as clubs smashed through the stone like they were made of Jenga blocks.

Under assault from five full-size giants, the tower fell within less than five minutes.

The giants stupidly cheered, celebrating their victory. Snape's lips curled into a smug sneer, and when Harry looked, Gemma's mouth had quirked into a ferocious grin as well. As the stone blocks from the top level fell to join its brethren, shattered on the ground, they lit brightly. A flash of light became a spark, and the spark became a roaring fireball twice as tall as the Owlery ever stood. The shockwave of the explosion staggered the defenders on the West Wing and fist-sized chunks of stone ripped through even the tough giant skin. Three giants were dead before they hit the ground; another was crippled, and another was injured but still capable of fighting.

Harry grinned viciously before raising his wand. "You're not the only arithmancer around here, Snape!" Snape looked at him expectantly. Harry twisted his wrist. "_Panzerfaust_!"

A bolt of slow-traveling white light floated over the battlefield towards the giant. The giant stupidly stared at the incoming bolt of light, intrigued. It struck the giant in the center of its chest; the point of contact erupted in a white-hot flash of heat and light, tearing the head clean off its neck. The head sailed a hundred feet back into the reserve ranks of Death Eaters, and everything else above its hips was scattered about in fist-sized pieces.

As the fireball flew higher into the sky, Gemma and most importantly, Snape, watched with a look of awe. Harry liked how Slytherins didn't question the darkness of your spells as long as they looked cool. Harry grinned.

"You might not be half bad, Stark."

"Thank you, Snape. That means everything to me."

Meanwhile, the northern entrance had been breached.

Voldemort clearly realized that his forces wouldn't make it through the bridge, so he decided to send his assault forces through the greenhouses. The bridge attacks instead became a diversion, and the least defended position became their place of attack. Katie and Cedric had already taken to the skies, attacking from above, but the defenders there were too few and too inexperienced. Fleur had forcibly evacuated the students and Professor Sprout, citing the need to retreat to a more defensible position. Ron had jumped out the window of Dumbledore's office, where he'd been organizing the troops with the Headmaster, landing silently on the rooftops. He tore off his robes, revealing his _Eclipse_ supersuit, taking off at a dead run towards the northern flank, casting a Patronus.

Neville grunted in pain as batted away a piece of falling masonry. The northern entrances were destroyed, creating a much larger hole for the enemy forces to charge through. Ginny had gotten very good through her training with Ron; she held off ten Death Eater thugs alone, and won, although injuring her left arm badly.

"Do not form ranks!" Fleur screamed from far in front of them, holding off those who dared approach her. Her phoenix suit burned in hellish glory; the golden markings were blacker than the night sky, and her silver hair looked like Veela plumage. She controlled a raging inferno at her fingertips - it must be burning as hot as Fiendfyre - and she showed no mercy to those who approached. Then again, she couldn't afford to.

"Keep your distance and fight with guerilla tactics!" She continued, before returning her attention to the attackers.

Katie swooped down at the oncoming enemy, disturbing the front ranks with a vicious tornado, the gales sharp and fast enough to tear through skin. Cedric had opted to land on the rubble and was transfiguring every piece of brick and mortar he could find into large, mottled dogs with brown and gold coats. Wild dogs.

"If all of you want to be useful, cast protective charms on the suits of armor!" Cedric shouted, never ceasing in his transfiguration efforts.

Hermione stumbled out from behind her hiding place, steadfastly ignoring the sounds of conflict as she began casting protective enchantments on the suits of armor. Half their numbers at the northern entrance had been decimated as a result of the first wave attacking. However, there were still enough of them left to possibly turn the tides of battle.

"Are you okay, Hermione?"

Hermione found Daphne Greengrass working alongside her, her face red and her blonde hair plastered messily over her forehead. Hermione hadn't imagined fighting alongside the Ice Queen of Slytherin, but here they were, fighting for their mutual home.

"I'm okay. You?"

"I can still go," Daphne muttered.

"Guardians of Hogwarts!" Cedric roared in a voice befitting Head Boy. At this, the suits of armor perked up; staring far off into the distance. "This is our moment! The enemy approaches us; approaches us, within the reach of our blades! Form ranks, and charge!"

The metal shells took off at a dead run. Unhindered by things like weight or strength, the suits of armor were running at a dead sprint; Hermione was shocked by just how fast they were moving. They could be Olympic runners! The Death Eaters halted as a wave of metal charged towards them; they began casting blasting hexes and banishing charms, but the enchantments blocked most of their efforts.

From in between the legs of the charging army, Cedric's golden dogs sprinted out. The shocked enemy lines were crippled by the deadly jaws of the hounds, hounds that slipped through miniscule cracks in their ranks and created chaos from order. Into that chaos, the hollow knights crashed, an unstoppable wave of iron and steel.

"Regroup!" Cedric screamed. "Aim volley. Fire!"

Hermione screamed "_confringo_!" alongside the others, and her beam of light flew in an arc, over the hounds and knights, into the mass of black-cloaked assailants. Panic spread in their once-orderly ranks; some raised shields where they should be attacking and some attacked where they should be raising shields.

"Let me get a piece of this!"

Hermione let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding when Ron Stark landed in front of them, and beside her, Harry Stark. Through his mask, Harry gave Hermione a grin and clapped her shoulder. "You all did well."

The praise warmed her heart even in the heat of battle as _Rex_ and _Eclipse_ marched into battle. It was only then that Harry Stark revealed why his Marauder name was _Monarch_ and his hero name _Rex_.

Harry doubled over slightly, and began to warp, his dimensions uncertain. Then he began to blow up like a balloon, though his limbs were no longer proportioned as they should be. Hermione and Daphne took a tentative step back, watching in awe, as Harry's robes became scales, his legs became pillars, and his mask became a maw filled with fangs each as long as either girl's arm. Eclipse hopped onto the back of the massive lizard, even as it opened its mouth and tore a soul-shattering roar.

Monarch. The king of lizards…

_Tyrannosaurus rex._

The massive beast charged forward, trampling Death Eaters underfoot, and using its massive fangs to rip through black robes. Hermione watched in both terror and awe as the man-beast unleashed its fury on the enemy. She could also see sickly green curses flying at Harry, but every time, Ron would block it with a conjured or summoned object.

They could win.

Hermione sincerely believed they might win. Even now, reinforcements were arriving; Jim Potter, alongside his parents, Sirius and Tonks, all were jogging towards the northern entrance. At the very lead was Albus Dumbledore, his terrible magic glowing and encasing him like an angel's halo. It was time for Hogwarts to strike back. The final push, the last stand.

The Battle of Hogwarts was nearing its end.

"_Draco dormiens nunquam tittilandus_," Daphne breathed.

Never tickle a sleeping dragon, Hermione translated. For you will bring upon you its wrath.

Dumbledore did not give a speech like one would expect him to. Instead, he let forth a guttural roar, one unlike him - full of fury and regret. He charged forward, his wand-tip glowing like the sun even in the nighttime sky, and made to release all his rage on those who had caused him so much grief. Dumbledore was no longer a headmaster - he was the Defeater of Grindelwald, the war hero.

Auror James Potter, Lily Potter, Minerva McGonagall, Nymphadora Tonks, Alastor Moody, Remus Lupin, Molly Weasley, Arthur Weasley, Kingsley Shacklebolt - they rushed forward, following Albus Dumbledore, Leader of Light, into the final fight for Hogwarts. Hagrid rushed past Hermione as well, roaring with rage, and Filch followed in his heavy armor, the barrel of his weapon glowing like the eyes of the devil; Flitwick compensated for his short legs by riding on Sirius' back. Cedric picked up his broom once more and took to the skies. Jim gripped the Sword of Gryffindor tightly in his hand and followed them into battle.

And Hermione wasn't going to be left behind.

She rushed forward with the other students to end the nightmare once and for all, to restore peace for her schoolmates and for greater Magical Britain. The Death Eaters - not as large anymore in number as she thought - began to flee at the counterattack from the much smaller defending force, awed and terrified by their rage and power. Dumbledore raised his wand in the air and, so unlike him, created a giant of fire and shadow. A _Balrog_.

Someone apparently liked the _Lord of the Rings_.

The flaming beast took the attention off the massive carnivorous man-turned-lizard as it unleashed its own terrifying roar and brandished its burning whip, halving the bodies of Death Eaters unfortunate enough to be standing near it. The Balrog bounded over the ranks, far more agile than anyone expected, to challenge a group of trolls that seemed to suddenly decide that the Balrog was a little too far above its weight class.

"Enough!"

Over all the sounds of battle, the piercing shriek could be heard by everyone, striking fear into their hearts. Hermione watched as the enemy crowd parted, revealing Lord Voldemort himself, his face twisted into an expression of unimaginable rage - and fear. Deep, abyssal, primal terror.

The dinosaur returned to Harry Stark, whipping out his wand quickly, while Ron Stark also faced off against Voldemort. Dumbledore himself aimed his wand at Voldemort, ready to kill; even the old man wasn't taking any chances this time. James Potter Senior pushed his wife back behind him.

"You die today, Tom Marvolo Riddle!" Harry suddenly screamed. Hermione had not heard that name before, but judging by the way Voldemort flinched… "You are no longer immortal. You are no god anymore! You are merely yet another villain, destined to be forgotten by history!"

With that proclamation, Jim Potter raised the severed head of Nagini.

Voldemort's eyes widened, and he screamed. Those with weaker wills - Hermione included - stumbled back in terror. Voldemort cast a bright green killing curse at Harry, who blocked it by raising the dirt before him into a wall. The soil kept rising higher and higher until it became a golem, its rumbling movements shaking the ground.

Dumbledore siphoned water from the Great Lake to form his own frost-giant, and Ron began to cast enchantments on the two golems. Voldemort snarled as he summoned Fiendfyre from his wand, a giant basilisk rising up on its haunches to unleash a spirit-crushing hiss at its opponents. Then, the golem and giant tacked the serpent from both sides.

The cursed fire began burning through the two quickly, but there were three of them against two. As Hermione watched, mesmerized, she was knocked aside by Daphne. Hermione grunted but saw a spell fly past where her head had been before. It was only then that she realized everyone else had started fighting as well.

"Do something!" Daphne snapped irritably.

Hermione nodded once, stood up, and joined Daphne's side to duel a newly freed Bellatrix Lestrange. Even weakened from captivity with no real opportunity to return to health, she was a formidable opponent; it was only when Ginny joined their side that she became manageable. Her arrogant smirk and cackling gave way to a focused expression, and the girls found themselves dueling an opponent twice as deadly.

"Merlin," Daphne grunted as she angled away Bellatrix's spell with a carefully positioned shield charm.

"She's strong," Hermione admitted, but continued speaking with a confidence she had never known she'd possessed. "But we can beat her! Because that is the only choice we have - we stop her rampage here and now!"

The three girls cast a trio of identical wand movements and spoke together.

"_Flipendo_!"

The first-year spell punched through Bellatrix's shield; her mouth gaped in surprise as she was sent hurtling through the air.

"_Stupefy_!" "_Expelliarmus_!" "_Incarcerous_!"

Three more spells slammed into Bellatrix, immediately disarming her, knocking her out, and conjured ropes immobilized her. Ginny cast a summoning charm, and dodged out of Bellatrix's way such that the female Death Eater was sent flying into Hogwarts halls, no longer in a position for an ally to restore her to fighting order. Hermione laughed harshly; there was something funny about Ginny summoning something and dodging out of its way.

The trio grinned at each other, before losing themselves again in the thick of the fight.

Suddenly, a barrage of slow-burning, bright white lights flew from the other end of the battlefield. Those who were stationed at the West Wing knew exactly what it was. The Death Eaters did not, and raised shields. It was futile.

Massive mushroom clouds blew into the air, and dozens of Death Eaters in the flank were decimated. Ron's earlier Patronus had succeeded in delivering a message to the Hogsmeade Watch, then, led by Aberforth Dumbledore.

Voldemort screamed again in rage, redoubling his efforts to kill his three opponents. His three opponents remained stoic, unyielding, and increased their own efforts. As a result, Voldemort found himself pushed back; the golems sacrificed themselves to wrestle the flame-serpent into the ground and destroy it. Now, it was a battle of spells and wills.

Filch was doing well, tearing through ranks of the enemy with incendiary bullets, and either kicking, punching or headbutting any who slipped in close to him. Hagrid likewise was a symbol of fear, as he waded through the enemy ranks, spells bouncing off his skin. Cedric continued transfiguring debris into packs of hounds, Fleur burned like a beacon in the night, Katie swept down from above like an eagle on a hunt. James Potter and Lily Potter together held the line against the Lestrange brothers.

It was at this point that the shrieks of dementors momentarily paralyzed the defenders; they swooped down, trying to pluck individuals from the fight into the air, trying to suck out their souls. Fleur screamed in fear and rage as Katie topped from her broom, falling towards the ground, to be caught by Cedric.

Then, the DA members remembered their training. Those that could, removed themselves from their fights to gather their happiest memories.

"_Expecto patronum_!"

The first wave was rather weak. Most emitted only mist from the stress of the battle and the terror emitted by the dementors. But the chanting continued.

"_Expecto patronum_!"

The second, third, fourth… each chant became stronger and stronger, until well over fifty Patroni circled above the battlefield. The dread creatures cried out in fear and pain, blasted away by the furious guardians as if they'd been shocked by lightning. The Patroni began to act, seemingly, on their own volition, rounding up the black-cloaked creatures like they were sheep and pushing them away, far away, from the battlefield.

Voldemort screamed, and sent a withering curse at Dumbledore. Dumbledore, exhausted and an old man, was unable to dodge; his left arm was struck by it, blackening the flesh. The dark Lord cried out in triumph as the Headmaster was blasted back into a group of students. However, this momentary distraction - his fear of Dumbledore, his insistence of taking out the old man - became his downfall.

Together, Harry and Ronald Stark charged at Voldemort. Voldemort sent a blood-freezing curse at Ron - but Ron simply swatted the curse away with his hand. Voldemort's expression of shock led Ron to grin victoriously and rip off his left sleeve, showing off the arm he'd lost and replaced with quicksilver. What had almost killed him last year had saved his life today.

Ron and Harry shoulder-charged Voldemort, knocking him off balance. The man was built like a brick wall; Harry thought he dislocated his shoulder. But that didn't matter. He and his blood-brother raised their wands together, funneling all their churning hatred into their fifteen-inch superwands, and cast a single spell simultaneously from point-blank.

"_Avada Kedavra_!"

Two bolts of vividly green light splashed against Voldemort's chest.

The Dark Lord looked down at his chest, and then up at his two killers, inhuman face twisted into a look of pure hatred. His Horcruxes had failed him. He was mortal. And now, his life had come to an end - ended by two men with a burning vengeance.

His body topped to the ground. Despite all the chaos, the sound of the Dark Lord hitting the ground echoed throughout the battlefield.

"I was the Chosen One," Harry whispered quietly, to a Voldemort who no longer heard. "And I always will be, no matter what world I might be in."

The rest of the battle progressed smoothly in favor of the Hogwarts defenders. Almost all attackers, save for the Inner Circle and other die-hard Voldemort loyalists, chose to flee instead of fight, upon seeing the symbol of immortality dead.

In the end, more Inner Circle members ended up dead rather than captured, with some students taking revenge for lost family or friends. The Hogsmeade Watch and Auror Corps rounded out a majority of Death Eater recruits who had fled.

In the end, the cost was great. There were far fewer deaths than in Harry and Ron's original timeline. All the people they'd come back to save, were alive. Tonks. Fred. Remus. Even Dumbledore - he'd been carried back to the Hospital Wing immediately, where Madam Pomfrey managed to subdue and even reverse the effects of the curse; it was thankfully in its infancy and was no longer lethal.

But people had still died, and that was unacceptable.

Many were OWL or NEWT students. Students with a bright future ahead of them. A few members of the Hogsmeade Watch had also died. Another casualty was a third-year student who snuck in to fight with the older students.

Thirty-three names that would never be forgotten.

But, there were only thirty-three. Harry and Ron Stark's presence had changed things for the better. They had saved the seventy or so people who would also have died at Hogwarts, not to mention all the Muggles and Muggleborn that Voldemort would have ordered dead during his rise to power.

But there were thirty-three. Too many.

"Too many, yes," Fleur argued with him. "But what if you had not been here? There would be four times as many dead. Four times as many promising young men and women, four times as many brothers, sisters, children, mothers, fathers, friends - dead! If you were not here, things would have been worse. You risked your life to save these people, you succeeded, and I am proud of you!"

"But-"

Fleur slapped him. Hard. Harry dazedly wondered if that was the result of teaching his girlfriend martial arts. He looked back into Fleur's piercing aquamarine eyes, fierce and determined even through the tears. Fleur grabbed both sides of his face, uncaring of the mask, and kissed him. A kiss that seemed to last forever, one that seemed to ignite an unquenchable fire in Harry's gut, a kiss that made his inner beast roar in exhilaration.

A flash from a camera. Harry and Fleur were startled out of their kiss. They turned to the side and found a boy smiling sheepishly, holding his camera in his hands. Harry felt a tired smile tug at the corners of his lips.

Fucking Colin Creevey.


	20. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

"Do you, Harry James Stark, take Miss Delacour as your lawful, wedded wife?" Dumbledore said with a rather comical wiggle of his bushy eyebrows.

"I do," Harry said, trying to reign in his laughter.

"And do you, Fleur Isabelle Delacour, take Mister Stark as your lawful, wedded husband?"

"I do," Fleur said confidently, staring into Harry's playful smirk and sparkling green eyes. She took a deep breath, and spoke again, in time with her life-long love.

"I join my mate in our next great adventure," they spoke together; quietly, but everyone could hear, as silent as they were. "I will stand by their side, support them, comfort them, protect them, and cherish them for so long as I take breath. I am yours, and you are mine, 'til death do us part."

"Then I proclaim the two of you man and wife," Dumbledore said, wiping a tear from his eye.

A moment of silence. It was broken by Ron's jeering. "What are you waiting for, man? Kiss her!"

Harry didn't need to be told twice; he scooped the beautiful Frenchwoman into his arms and pulled her waist in for a dramatic, romantic kiss. The attendees, as few as they were, cheered loudly; transfigured doves flew out in every direction, leaving behind occasional feathers floating slowly to the ground. Harry finally pulled away from the breathless woman, wearing a silly grin on his face.

"We're married," he commented stupidly.

"Yes," Fleur said, seeming just as surprised. "We are."

"Will the wedded couple have the first dance?" Dumbledore asked, a twinkle in his eyes.

Fleur and Harry smiled at each other. The past fourteen years they'd been getting to know each other, they'd practiced their swing dancing and even tried out tango, but right now, they only cared for a slow dance. The music, deep, rhythmical and almost dream-like, lulled them into a trance, into a daydream, where the two of them were the only characters in the world.

And they were alright with that.

They hadn't noticed the other couples come onto the stage. Ronald Stark and Katherine Bell-Stark, Sirius Black and Luna Lovegood, James Potter Jr. and Faye Potter, Rubeus Hagrid and Olympe Maxime, James Potter Snr. and Lily Potter, Cedric Diggory and Gemma Farley, Remus and Nymphadora Lupin, Draco and Ginevra Malfoy, Viktor Krum and Hermione Krum, Severus Snape and Aurora Sinistra.

Harry and Fleur, not particularly interested in marriage, had been the last of all their friends to be married or engaged. They'd spent about ten years traveling the world, visiting magical communities and learning new things. Ron and Katie had gone their own way, and once or twice they'd seen each other on their trips. The duel Ron and Harry had, with all the extra skills in their repertoire, was truly legendary.

Luna had started dating Sirius once she graduated from school. Sirius was uncomfortable at first, but Luna didn't care what Sirius thought about the matter, apparently. The two of them now went on trips as often as Ron, Katie, Harry and Fleur did, but their expeditions were more centered around exotic magical creatures.

Jim and Faye had gotten married almost immediately after school - like father, like son, Harry assumed. Both were respected Aurors now, having been the last cohort that Mad-Eye trained before the grumpy man went into retirement. Cedric had hooked up with Gemma after the Battle for Hogwarts, after the strangely un-Slytherin, tattooed and pierced girl had witnessed his impressive abilities and his charming personality.

Remus and Lupin fell in love when they were rounding up escaped Death Eaters. The former's shy, skittish personality had merged with the aggressive, confident nature of the werewolf once when he took the wrong dosage of Wolfsbane. The man became the perfect hybrid of confidence and humility. Nymphadora had wondered what the hell had brought on such a change from the man - he'd even asked her to dinner! - and decided to give it a try, which she very much enjoyed.

Draco and Ginny were a surprise - Molly was dearly confused, and Arthur took time accepting that Draco was not a clone of his father (probably) - but they made for a happy couple, constantly bickering and snarking at each other. Draco, much like his father, became a cunning businessman, dipping his fingers into about a dozen pies, while Ginny naturally went to play Quidditch professionally.

Viktor was also playing Quidditch professionally - in Puddlemere, of all places. Apparently he'd insisted on it. Turned out it was so he could see Hermione again - a romance story that made Harry gag, but Hermione was happy so he guessed it wasn't a big deal.

And Snape? Harry was not entirely sure what he'd been smoking when he got the idea to hook up the astronomy teacher with the dungeon bat, but it must have been some good shit. To his and literally everyone's surprise (probably Snape's and Sinistra's as well), Snape was able to act cordially towards the young, dark and attractive astronomy professor. Progress was slow, but sure, and they were engaged, though their wedding was scheduled a few months from now.

After they danced a bit longer, Fleur and Harry went to cut the cake. The cake was simple, with two tiers, but the top had animated chocolate figurines - one of Harry and one of Fleur, chasing around one of Ron while one of Katie laughed with her hands on her stomach - that must have taken some time to animate. The newlyweds grinned at each and cut down with a giant goblin-made cleaver they'd rented out for this occasion.

"Who wants the first piece?" Fleur asked, and Harry rolled his eyes as Albus 'Sweet-Tooth' Dumbledore made his way over. She continued to expertly slice the cake - the cleaver was so sharp that the icing was not disturbed at all - into thin pieces and handed them out to the guests.

Harry watched with a small smile as the guests sat around the circular table and began to chatter. Most of what they were talking about were silly stories at his expense, but he didn't mind. He liked it here. It was… nice.

* * *

Two men and two women appeared in the Department of Mysteries. They were the only ones here; everyone else was at home, celebrating Victory Day. Ironically enough, they were sneaking about when everyone was at home for the public holiday created in their honor.

The four sorcerers were old, very old. They'd lived on this world a very long time, now, a happy and full life. Lived long enough to see humanity go on a manned mission beyond the solar system. Lived long enough to see Muggles crack the code of DNA and invent a pseudo-immortality that Voldemort would have killed for. Lived long enough to see wars and conflicts kill in the billions, both on earth or otherwise.

They were close to death. But they weren't ready to die just yet. There was a whole universe to explore. New rules to discover, new games to play. Even after three hundred years of life, they were not yet close to figuring out all the magic that swirled around them. So, the old men had suggested they do what they had done before to arrive on this world.

They looked up at the rough stone arch. Looked like a pile that someone had stolen straight out of Stonehenge, but ancient, undecipherable, possible even inhuman runes were carved into the stone, still visible even after tens of thousands of years of exposure to rain and wind. One symbol was carved into the top of the arch; a circle inside a bisected triangle. The Deathly Hallows.

All three items were in Harry's possession once more, after Sirius gave back the Elder Wand upon his death. He'd died happily, surrounded by great-great-grandchildren. Luna's sudden loss to disease had taken out a lot of him, and he'd declined their offer of taking him along. He just wanted to see Luna again, in the end. Harry respected that.

"We're back where we started," Ron spoke quietly.

"That we are," Harry agreed. He turned to his wife and best mate's wife. "Are you both ready?"

Fleur, her hair still as smooth and strong as she was as when they met, nodded. "I have always been ready."

"So am I," Katie agreed.

"Then hold close," Ron ordered, clasping Harry's arm and Katie's in the other. Harry grabbed Fleur, who in turn grabbed Katie. "Now, imagine apparating. Apparating back in time, to a time when we were still kids, with time to grow up. Imagine a time…"

And, together, they fell backwards into the Veil of Death.

* * *

**World 3 (World 2 for Katie, Fleur)**

"We made it," Ron grinned.

"This is…" Katie breathed. "Amazing. All my joint pains are gone!"

"We now have another lifetime to explore the world to our heart's content," Harry grinned.

* * *

**World 4**

"Ron, are you seriously wasting your time with that dumb YouTube account? You've been trying for four years and you've only gained…" Harry squinted, then snorted. "One-hundred and six subscribers."

"Suck my balls," Ron said irritably. "I care about every subscriber like they're my own child."

* * *

**World 6**

"Hey, Harrikins, remember when you were mocking my YouTube channel? Now you're making an Instagram meme page? Seriously?"

"And I _still_ get more money off this account than you ever did on your dumb channel."

* * *

**World 9**

"President Stark!" A man dressed in a crisp, black suit burst into the Oval Office with an unusual amount of fear and urgency in his voice. A redheaded President looked up at the spook, his face calmer than ice. A President of the United States, re-elected last year, known as the coldest, most brutal President since the beginning of the Cold War.

"What do you want?"

The man swallowed. From the news he bore or Ron's cold blue eyes, he didn't know. "The Air Force has detected seventeen hundred missiles incoming on American soil, Mister President."

"Missiles? Nuclear missiles?"

"It appears so, sir."

"Is the SDI online?"

"Yes, sir. The Air Force is attempting to burn away the missiles as we speak. However, there are too many for two SDI units to obliterate." He stammered. "We're trying to disable those on route to Washington D.C…."

"Enough." The words were cut off immediately with a single word spoken in a slight southern drawl. "Play the evacuation tapes. Air raid sirens. All of them. Once that is done, I wish to access my own nuclear weapons. We will wage total war. We will drag the Reds down to Hell with us."

"...yes, sir."

"May God have mercy on our souls."

Inwardly, though, Ron was grinning like a madman. Katie and Fleur hadn't approved, saying it was barbaric… but playing a _Fallout_ game in real life? Who could resist? With Harry as the President of the USSR and himself at the head of the US… anything was possible. And a lot of fun.

* * *

**World 14**

"All Hail, the Lord of House-Elves, Dobby Thunderfist!" Ron crowed.

"All Hail!"

The wizards and witches, dressed in dirty rags and hoods made from pillow-cases, lowered themselves onto their knees and bowed their heads. Meanwhile, Dobby, dressed in chainmail made from gold and a crown made of goblin-steel, strode up the steps to his throne with his gangly legs. He plopped himself on the Holy Beanbag and looked down upon his subjects.

"Youse may rise, priests of Dobby-Church!" Dobby proclaimed.

The wizards and witches climbed to their feet, thanking Dobby for being so generous with his subjects. The four Archbishops - Ron, Katie, Harry and Fleur - had to stifle their laughter each time. Dobby had a wonderful mischievous streak that they could cultivate. In fact, Dobby, despite only having been traveling with them for two worlds now, had taken up the role with zeal.

"Grave news has reached Dobby's floppy ears, priests of Dobby-Church," Dobby said with a faux grave expression on his face, tugging on his flappy ears. "Dobby has been given news from Archbishop Ron that the wicked Kreacher-cult is planning to give Dobby… give Dobby secondhand clothes!"

Priests gasped in horror or rage. "How dare they!" One shouted. "Such affront!" Another cried.

"Yes, Dobby knows," Dobby said with fake sympathy. "Dobby only wears clothes that costs more than Dobby's subjects entire lifetime savings."

"Yes, your Holiness," the crowd murmured.

"To fight the Kreacher-cult," Dobby said, bouncing on his chair, "Dobby's subjects must make sure they do not wear any secondhand clothes. In fact, nobody really knows if they wear firsthand or secondhand clothes - so Dobby's subjects must take care not to wear _any_ clothes!"

A few murmurs in the crowd. Ron silenced it by raising it mighty warhammer and slamming the butt of the shaft into the marble floor, creating a deafening _crack_. "Do you have complaints, wizards? Or will you see Lord Dobby's… _suggestion_, implemented?"

"With no complaint, Archbishop," a wizard said hastily.

"Good."

"The only clothes Dobby allows you to wear is the Cowl of Dobby-Church," Dobby proclaimed. "Dobby knows that is not secondhand clothes."

"Thank you, your Holiness! All Hail!"

"Hail!"

The four dimension-travelers burst into laughter the next morning, where the Prophet proclaimed the rise of a new nudist cult that seemed to be affiliated with the Dobby-Church. Now, they and Dobby would go incognito and watch their followers try to find their way without their glorious House-Elf Lord.

* * *

**World 17**

"Isn't it somewhat ironic that Ron, you are playing Harry, and Harry, you are playing Ron?" The interviewer asked with a smile. "Is this a massive conspiracy or just coincidence?"

"We were pretty shocked," Harry, a ginger with blue eyes, grinned wrily. "Imagine us playing each other, you know?"

"Yeah," Ron, a boy with black hair and green eyes, smirked. "I think it's pure coincidence, but if it is, it's one _hell_ of a coincidence. You know?"

"It really is," the interviewer nodded her head. "Well, there you go, folks. Ron and Harry Stark, kindly telling us about the newest movie they are starring in, _Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban_."

'Ron' Stark snickered.

* * *

**World 22**

Ruby Eisen was a Muggleborn witch. She'd learned that a little over a month ago. In 2016, when everything seemed to be digitized and have eyes, it was a surprise to learn of hidden enclaves of magical people dotted around the world, completely unknown by normals.

And now, she was being Sorted into one of the four Houses. The Four Houses, founded by Haraldr Stark, Romeo Stark, Katherine Bell, and Fleur Delacour. They each valued different traits in a person, and each wished for their Houses to value that trait as well - but they never explicitly mentioned _which_ trait they valued, making the new students figure that out by themselves.

Ruby's eyes snapped back to McGonagall.

"Adams, James!"

Another Muggleborn student, judging by his surname. The timid-looking boy went to the stool, whereupon the Sorting Hat (was that a multicolored cap? With a _propeller_ on the top?) was placed upon his head; McGonagall, like part of a ritual, spun the propeller with reverence. After about ten seconds of awkward propeller spinning, the Hat took a deep breath, and shouted, "YEET!"

Ruby was confused. James was too. House Yeet, clad in green, cheered like mad. James stumbled into the crowd, no doubt wondering, like Lucy, if he'd just heard what he thought he heard.

"Black, Gemina!"

"LANNISTER!"

Ruby gaped. House Lannister, that was just what the House had announced. The colors were even red and gold. They clapped politely, unlike the boisterous Yeets. A girl with wavy black hair and beautiful, storm-gray eyes stepped down to the red house with aristocratic confidence.

"Diggory, John!"

"REPRESENTATIVES!"

Ruby shook her head. This was ridiculous.

"Eisen, Ruby!"

Ruby sat down on the stool and blushed a little as the propeller cap was placed on her head and the propeller started whirling. Ruby was taken in by the hypnotic sound until she eventually realized she was inside… darkness. A void. She looked around, realizing that strangely she did not feel inclined to panic at all. She looked harder, and spots of light began appearing. Beneath, above, before and behind her. Everywhere. Glowing dust clouds formed nebulae and neutron stars glowed brightly.

It was beautiful. The slightly archaic accent did not break the sense of wonder.

"Welcome, Ruby, daughter of Eleanor. You are inside your own mind."

"Are you the Sorting Hat?"

"I am what resides within, yes. I am… complicated. But my creators were wise men and women, having lived longer lives than any in this world could even comprehend."

"I have a question," Ruby said. "Are the Houses named that, having known that they'd end up being jokes?"

"Many Muggleborn students ask that," the Sorting Hat mused. "And yes. I do believe they did so, 'for the memes'. Though they never told me what 'memes' were."

"Right," Ruby said, feeling a little dazed. How could have four people from one thousand years ago _possibly_ know what memes were? Then again, the Hat did say they had lived longer than anyone in this world could comprehend…

"Now, let's get started with the sorting. You're certainly not shy, plenty of friends… hardworking. This will do you well in the House of Pancakes. The people there are friendly, supportive, hardworking. Representatives would be good too - you will do well among the more academically inclined, using your sharp mind to learn things beyond what others expect. Yeet would also be good - their parties are the wildest. You would even do well in House Lannister - the House of the Golden Lion seems to attract members with cunning and strength. What to do with you?"

Ruby remained silent.

"I think I have a solution," the Hat said quietly. "There are not many who get sorted there, but it happens once in a while. A fifth house, for those with the potential to become truly great. For those who are not content with the world in their grasp; for those with a burning fire that cannot be quenched even by death. For those carrying the heart of a hero, like Neo. For those carrying the will, like John Wick. And for those who will pull others up despite their weights on their own shoulders - like Keanu Reeves."

"Wait, hold up-"

Ruby was snapped out of her trance, just to hear the Hat shout, "KEANU!"

The three other members of House Keanu, seated in a small semicircle table at the back of the hall, cheered loudly enough for the difference in numbers to be made up for. Ruby stumbled to the far side of the hall, sitting in between two senior students who opened a gap for her.

"Hey," one said with a grin. "I'm Allison, the unofficial prefect of this House."

"Hi," Ruby smiled.

After about twenty minutes, all students were sorted; Dumbledore stepped up to the podium and everyone fell silent.

"Welcome, students, to another year of Hogwarts," he said with a smile. "And to those of you who were just sorted, welcome to Hogwarts. Now, I know you are hungry and thirsty, so I will keep it quick. Allow me, however, to give you a message from the Founders."

Ruby's eyes widened. None of the books had mentioned this!

Allison leaned in to whisper in her ear. "Sometimes the year opens with messages. They can be cautionary, like when the Chamber of Secrets was opened, or they can be really specific advice, like how to open a bottle if you don't have a bottle opener."

"Right," Ruby said.

Dumbledore cleared his throat, pulling out a slip of parchment and adjusting his spectacles.

"Go to Del Taco… they got this new thing called Freesh- Fressh A-voca-doo!" Dumbledore put it away. "Thank you!"

Ruby's jaw dropped. She was sure she heard a few other Muggleborn jaws drop around the hall, too, even through all the cheering and applause. This was going to be a wacky school experience.

* * *

**World 33 (30,000 BCE)**

On the great plains of Africa, a few primitive humans watched the four strange humans draw on the ground. The primitive humans, who called themselves _Tak_, had met the four strange humans twenty summers ago. At first, the Tak had attacked them, thinking them to be invaders from the puny tribe further north, but that was not the case. They were a tribe of their own! Only four of them, no babes, and they carried no spears or axes or cudgels.

But, they were dressed in garments the Tak had never seen. Strange black hairless hides, a woven fabric of some kind but was very blue. They also wore jewelry made of gold, and a similar material to gold except it shone white. They had pretty stones, blue and green and red and white.

But most importantly, the color of their skin was all off.

Three of them had dark skin, like the Tak did. In fact, the green-eyes had skin that was dark as night, as if he'd rubbed the charred wood into his skin. He and the female dark-skin had black hair, like the Tak did. The last dark-skin, though, had red hair, red like wildflowers and like fire.

The last one had skin the color of milk and hair the color of the shining stars. She felt exotic. Unnatural. But also beautiful. And the men couldn't seem to help acting fools with her, and even some of the women! They drooled over her and tried to consort with her, sometimes physically - but she rejected all their advances, and when she was attacked, she demonstrated a knowledge of fighting. She did not fight like the Tak did, with fists and elbows and knees and teeth. No, she was a wrestler. A very good one; she flipped a man twice her girth, pinned him to the ground and dislocated his shoulder in less than three heartbeats.

It had taken an entire two summers for trust to develop between the strangers and the Tak. Then, they had learned, these strange humans could do magic, they were Gods in human flesh. The Tak wanted to worship them, but the strange humans - who could somehow speak their language - disliked being worshipped. They were only humans, even if they were wiser humans than most.

They taught the Tak the secrets of the world. Gold, and the strange white gold they called 'silver', were types of 'metal'. There were many 'metal' hidden in stones deep in the ground, but they could be put on top of a fire until they turned hot and soft, and one could use it to mold it into a shape - a spearhead, for example. Or a 'sword'.

They told tales of 'dragons' and 'goblins'. The Tak were skeptical, but some of the elders had seen Nundu and Phoenix on the great plains before, both of which were divine beasts, so they had no trouble believing in great flying lizards or a race of near-humans who manipulated this 'metal' as easily as breathing.

The Tak had come to trust the wisdom of the Strangers. That was why two summers ago, they followed the Strangers on their great migration. They had walked for about one summer before the Strangers stopped. It was beautiful, but a fairly commonplace savannah; animals milled around the region, and though the Tak were wary of the elephants and the rhinoceros, the Strangers could talk to them as easily as they spoke to the Tak.

They had stopped here because of something called 'ley-lines', and they thought it was the perfect place to do their sorcery.

And today, the four Strangers were drawing around the great tree they now called their home.

Chants and dance. The Tak were invited to dance with them, so they did. Stamping of feet, ululating cries, divine chants. It seemed to go on until the sun went down. But when darkness fell and Tak began questioning their objective, the ground shook.

The earth rose, forming mighty pillars of stone and clay, arching up to form a ring around the tree. Then, above the tree, a transparent material seemingly as hard as stone rose up into a dome; they covered the tree yet didn't cover it. It was transparent like water, but hard as stone!

Some of the Tak promptly left. The elders questioned the Strangers, demanding to know what they did with the several men and women who left. The Strangers patiently explained that the new temple was saturated with magic. Was full of it, and the eyes of the Gods were on them. That was why, anyone who wasn't worthy, would promptly leave.

The remaining seven Tak were worthy and permitted to remain. If they weren't - well, they'd know about it.

The temple had carved drawings in its walls, carvings that were beautifully precise. Images of the 'dragons' and Nundus and phoenixes, of plants that could be used to heal and others that would kill. It had the map of the stars and the map of the local land. It contained pictures on how to do magic. It had more knowledge in this one building than the Tak had ever seen - one no longer had to go to a certain place, taste a certain plant, to gain wisdom.

And thus was created the first place of learning.

The next morning, though, the four strangers had disappeared forever. The Tak searched for them, but they could not find them. They had been called back to the stars.

* * *

**Unknown**

"Alright, boys and girls," Ron grinned. "Interdimensional Apparition. It took us a while to figure out, and that's saying something considering we don't even remember how old we are at this point, but it's ready. Theoretically, we should be able to warp into worlds that we already know as part of fiction, if there are infinite numbers of parallel universes like we think there are."

Harry pulled out a small stone object and tossed it to the side; a _finite_ removed the shrinking charm and allowed the Veil of Death to be restored to its full size.

"For our first interdimensional adventure, where should we go?" Ron said, rubbing his palms together.

"Middle-Earth," Harry and Fleur said immediately.

"You've been corrupted, Fleur."

"It's a masterpiece and you don't have the intelligence to realize that."

"Whatever. I suppose it could be interesting." The four of them linked hands and looked up to the skies.

A small phrase, uttered in a language everything knew yet nothing spoke. The language of existence itself. Anything with the ability to recognize they were existing, knew this language, deep down in their consciousness. The 'Tongue of Trees', Merlin had called it, but Merlin had not seen the things the four of them had seen on their many travels.

They asked the universe, politely, if they could visit another world. The universe agreed. The four of them stepped through the Veil, and the Strangers, and the Veil, disappeared from existence.

* * *

Thanks to all who read this story, and I sincerely hope you enjoyed it. I know I had fun writing it. There is now a sequel up, _Five Istari and Four Warlocks_, which I will be working on first and foremost. This one will give Harry and Fleur more attention, though Ron and Katie are still there.


End file.
